Love a la Mode.  
A COMEDY.  
As it was lately ACTED with great Applause at Middlesex-House.  
WRITTEN By a Person of HONOUR.  Ficta, voluptatis causa, sint proxima veris. Hor. de Art. Poet. 
LONDON, Printed by J. C. for John Daniel, at the three Hearts in St. Paul's Churchyard, near the West end 1663.   

dramatis Personae.  

GAMBUGIUM, a Doctor of Physic.  
VIRGINIO, Father to Celia.  


Two Lovers A la Mode.  
TICKET, a Traveller,  
RANT his Friend,    
PHILOSTRATUS, a Gentleman, and Lover of Celia.  
CLYSTERPIPE, The Doctors Man.  
BLUNT, An old fellow turned Gallant for Coelia's love.  
A PORTER.  
Two LACQVEYS.  
CELIA, Daughter to Virginio.  
CLITTOMESTRA, Wife to Gambugium.  
ACUTA, Her Daughter.  
ASTUTIA, Sister to Ticket.  
MATRONA, Governess to Celia,   
Scene LONDON.   

To the READER.  
THis Comedy will (I hope) afford more variety both in humour and plot, then to give just cause to any to believe it a Translation: although (I must confess) there be a French Play which bears this Title; and in Title only they resemble. The French are commonly content in their Comedies with one single Humour, and Rhyme; but the Critics of this Island are scarce satisfied with Reason. I expect as many Censurers as Readers; but hold myself as little bound to believe them, as to court their approbation: for I shall neither live concerned at their frowns, nor much exalted with their smiles. Yet am I not so conceited of my Work, as some of my partial Friends, who have imposed upon me the Penance to hear my Play extolled beyond its merit: for my Muse was never so ambitious, to pretend equality with those unparallelled Poets they prefer her before. However, their Verses express their friendship, and peculiar approbation of what you may possibly condemn. But I desire to be tried by my Peers, by legitimate Judges, of which I conceive two sorts; Poet's in actu, and Poets in potentia, understanders of Poetry: under the last notion, I willingly comprehend the generous and accomplished Gentry of this Nation; not every Mechanic stripling that can spell his Psalter, and censure Wit over a dish of Coffee: for a Comedy may lose half its worth by the ill reading, and all its wit through the dull apprehension of the peruser: yet such Readers I may easily forgive; for they suffer a kind of penance in the Reading, by spending so much time to so little purpose, as the condemnation of what they understand not.  
I only contend with the ignorant; to the judicious my Muse submits, making only exceptions against those, who think a Play criminal which had a Gentleman for its Composer; as if Wit and Blood were incompatible.  
Although the year of his Majesty's happy Restauration gave birth to this Poem, yet because it was not before published, many may wonder why we omit so modern and Modish a Custom, as the introducing of Songs and Dances in every Scoene. Truly, though I hold them decent Ornaments of the Stage, I love not to make them the matter of my Play; nor do I believe them so absolutely necessary to a good Comedy, as to intrude them by head and shoulders, when they don't belong to my Plot. As near as I could, I endeavoured to imitate Nature; for I think no impossible accident is here presented. If to some (I mean Poetical Cobblers, Vampers of Wit, who undertake to mend what they can't make) the language appear beyond the condition of the speaker: their own Reason might instruct them, that Poets have in all times assumed to themselves a liberty of bettering and exalting Nature; and that Love (of all Passions) is the greatest improvement of Wit and Elocution. Nothing remains besides (as I conceive) to carp at, unless because it was not Acted on a public Stage: This Play was brought forth in the Shade, and Glories in a private reception; for she once received the General Votes and Applause of her Auditors: You'll find by the perusal what she deserves. Farewell.  
T. S.   


TO HIS HONOURED BROTHER, THE AUTHOR OF Love à la Mode.  
HAving well weighed your Scenes, I needs must say,  
Each Plot and Fancy's new within your Play.  
You follow Nature justly; nothing here  
Impossible, or Monstrous doth appear:  
No bombast language, that so high doth swell,  
As if it would conjure Devils from their Cell,  
Or rack the ear, and, which is worse, the brain  
Of every Auditor, ere he can gain  
The sense: but every Scoene is so expressed,  
As suits the matter, and the humour best.  
Now Fletcher's gone, I fear there are but few,  
For neat expressions that can vie with you;  
And though you imitate his wanton strain,  
Love well expressed as much applause may gain  
As dull Mechanic humours, since your pen  
Can hit the humour of wild Gentlemen.  R. Colbrand Baronet.  

On the Incomparable LOVE à la MODE.  
Critics approach, view what a stream of Wit  
Through this one Poem runs; examine it:  
I dare engage, each Act, each Scoene, each line,  
Of purest Wit and Mirth 's the richest mine  
Ere'sprung from English Pen. But whither strays  
My muse? 'tis boldly done: dost think thy praise  
Exalts the Poets same? or can a Verse  
Do more than Volumes justly can rehearse?  
Are not the Wits free votes already past,  
That who condemns it, his own judgement blasts?  
Were Shakespeare, Fletcher, or renowned Ben  
Alive, they'd yield to this more happy pen  
Those laurels that bedecked their brows; and say,  
Love à la mode's the best-accomplish'd Play.  J. Keling Esquire.  

On the Composure of LOVE à la MODE.  
LOve à la mode doth in itself contain  
So much of worth, my praises would profane  
Its excellence: do but one Scoene rehearse,  
You'll find it much beyond the praise of Verse.  
Vulgar words here you'll see placed with such art,  
And so adapted unto every part;  
A Comment would be useless to explain  
His easy, fluent, and yet lofty strain:  
Nor dothed in words consist (that were not fit)  
But every word is ushered in with wit.  
Thus Wit and Language doth his Muse refine,  
And them unto an active Plot doth join  
With such true art, that all just Wits agree  
In commendation of this Comedy.  
And for its worth, I thus far dare engage,  
Since the revival of the English Stage;  
No modern Muse hath yet produced such:  
Were Johnson living, he would swear as much.  W. K.   

The first PROLOGUE, to Love à la mode.  
LOve à la mode! what doth the Poet mean?  
With Hoods and Scarves for to be deck his Scoene?  
Open a pack, and let each Lady choose  
What best she fancies, or what's most in use?  
This cannot be his meaning; 'tis not fit  
That he should vent you Wares in stead of Wit:  
Though Wit be hard to come by, and not doubt,  
Tho' much pretended to, 'tis quite worn out:  
And I believe, 'twill prove too great a pain  
T'indeavour bringing of it up again.  
Love à la mode! many a pretty wench  
Hath taught a man to snuffle out more French:  
That I should be thus blockish! but I'll in,  
And strait entreat the Actors to begin:  
For I believe before this Play is ended,  
Most here will know the Love that's here intended.  
And if my judgement I do not abuse,  
This Gallick-love is here too much in use.  
But I'm too bold, and much your patience wrong:  
Here come the Actors, I must hold my tongue.   

A second PROLOGUE, To be spoken at the next acting of it.  
A Jury of noble Wits already past  
Upon this Play, when 'twas presented last;  
And having tried it by Poetic Laws,  
Doom it to live with general applause.  
But not with standing this fair precedent,  
If Writs of error come, we must consent  
It stand a second trial, whilst you sit  
Here round, the great Commissioners of Wit,  
To canvas every Scoene; nay, we'll afford  
You liberty to censure every word.  
If some ambiguous are, or bear a sense  
That on the Ladies have an influence,  
To make them smile or blush; tell us, I pray,  
Where lies the guilt? in them, or in the Play?  
Words of themselves are innocent, 'tis your  
Waggish conceits that makes the sense impure:  
As once I stood behind a Ladies back  
When she was reading a religious tract,  
Wherein to occupy themselves 'twas said  
In goodness did become a virtuous Maid:  
She laughed aloud; the honest Friar he  
Knew no bad sense in the word occupy.  
No more our Author doth; 'tis in your breast  
To make a civil or immodest jest.  
As for the Actors now, what faults they make  
Are not premeditate, but by mistake;  
Therefore with Reason for this mercy look,  
To have (when out) the benefit o'th' Book.   

LOVE A la mode.  

ACTUS Primus.  

Scoena secunda.  Rant and Ticket. Rant. 
WHen all is done, give me your English Madam;  
She'll hold out a battery, a double  
Voyage; and when she hath served some thirty years  
Or so, sprung twenty leaks, charitably  
Maintained a Covey of younger Brothers;  
In her age, when Beauty and Venery  
Have both forsaken her, makes all Flaws up,  
And lives an honest Townsmans' wife.  Tick. 
The plump Venetian do I most affect:  
Oh Sir, they are so far beyond what our  
Dull Island breeds, both for discourse, than their  
Behaviour, wit, and cunning in managing  
Their Loves, blinding their Husband's jealousies,  
Which makes them up so absolute, as they  
Likewise themselves, by th'help of Art, that you  
Would swear our English women are mere fools,  
And Gypsies compared to them.  Ran. 
Travellers, Sir, have liberty to speak  
Without control: yet by your favour, Sir,  
I have heard many, who have visited  
Those parts, (of which some were Natives) t' affirm  
The World could not afford Beauties  
That might compare with those our Climate breeds.  Tick. 
For natural Beauties, true: but they  
Are only fit for Naturals,  
Mere Simplicina's, that have no wit  
To raise, or to allay an appetite;  
Which is the cause all strangers do esteem  
We are inconstant Lovers; when the defect  
Is in our women only: for had they  
The Art of the Venetian Courtesan,  
To vary, and change themselves into divers shapes,  
Now like a Nymph, sometimes a Shepherdess,  
And now and then a Madam of the Court;  
Why then, there were variety: but to be  
Always forced to take up the same fashioned  
Petticoat— Fie upon't.  Ran. 
But do you think, Sir, change of habit can  
Work the same pleasure, as variety  
Of Women?  Tick. 
Exceeding far. In Italy I've seen  
A She-Comoedian act four several parts,  
And so by Art deceitful to the Eye,  
That I have taken her for as many  
Several persons; and so grew in love  
With four Females in one woman.  Ran. 
'Tis much, Sir, you deliver of that Nation,  
Which may with ease excel in constancy,  
Their women varying so their shapes,  
According to their lover's appetites.  
Yet I am sorry, Sir, your travels have  
So prejudiced your fancy to our beauties.  Tick. 
Pish, not worthy of that name: some calves,  
(She-ones I mean) born with white faces,  
Green-sickness and Buttermilk, a Skindeep  
Varnish; but what have they besides to set  
Them off? Nature's a Master-Taylor, Sir,  
That cuts many handsome fashionable  
Garments out (Beauties I mean) but Art's  
Her fashioner, and indeed, doth give the  
Grace and Ornaments to Nature's roughcasts:  
This Art th' Italian Dames are Mistress of,  
Can change the colour of their hair at pleasure;  
If it be too long, lop from it; if too short,  
Make an addition: if their complexion  
Be swarthy, create a new one; if pale,  
Add to it a Tincture, that exceeds the Rose:  
Their Eyebrows likewise they can mould, and colour  
Their Eyes according to their fancy; their Nose,  
Their Cheeks, their Lips, their Teeth; then, for their Tongue,  
Their Language gives it such an harmony,  
That you would swear they by themselves made up,  
Were Cherubins, sometimes Angels, and in  
Their slightest dress the beautifullest of women.  Ran. 
Either they are Paragons indeed, or much  
Indebted to thy character, by which  
Thou hast so far enamoured me, that I  
Can love them all in thy description:  
In answer to which courtesy, I'll show  
Thee an English Beauty, whose kill eyes  
I know must wound thy heart, unless thou hast  
My Antidote against Love; she is  
A Beauty to be seen on Festivals,  
And by her Husband kept with as much care  
As is his Sunday-Cloak.  Tick. 
Pish, I'll not believe there can be such a thing  
As any Beauty here: when I returned  
From travel, I did propose unto my eyes  
A Lent, an abstinence from beauteous objects.  Rant. 
Signior, tho' I am seldom so ill bred,  
To place my praise and commendation  
On any thing our Country doth produce,  
(Tho' never so deserving) yet I can assure  
This Lady worthy your acquaintance  
And perusal; but yet so jealous kept.  Ticket. 
That's it which moves me; for I love alive  
To horn a man that's jealous of his wife.  Rant. 
And now thou talk'st of jealousy, a neat  
Jest comes to my mind, a Friend of mine  
Did lately put upon this Churl: he's old,  
(That's by the way) and cannot see's fingers  
Without Spectacles; which my friend-perceiving,  
Took an occasion handsomely to change them,  
And in their place, put multiplying ones.  
The Doctor still discoursing with my Friend,  
Fancies a noise in's Ladies Chamber; promptly  
Snatches these Spectacles, puts them on, and runs  
To surprise a fantastic nothing; finds  
His Wife tying her shoe, whereat he grew  
Enraged, thinking he saw a thousand hands  
About her Petticoat; calls my Friend in, a Witness  
To his Wife's lewdness: but he no sooner entered,  
But the Doctor grew more enraged, swore he  
Saw a thousand men to Cuckold him; with  
Which he draws me out his two-hand Sword,  
And kill's you valiantly some twenty shadows;  
Whilst his Spectacles falling off, discovered what  
An Ass he was.  Ticket. 
Ha', ha', ha', I long to see this Lady; I wonder what She thought.  Rant. 
Why, to make her Husband what he thought himself.  Ticket. 
And well he doth deserve it; hast thou been often with her?  Rant. 
No, by this light, but thrice; I never love  
To tie myself to one, tho' in the way  
Of Courtship, I have for every day  
My several Mistress, for every week a fresh one.  Ticket. 
Then thou art right; continue there: by Jove  
I did not think a mere untravelled man  
Can love so à la mode. But, do the Ladies  
Well receive this love?  Rant. 
How can they choose, since with their nature it  
So well agrees and sympathizes? 've learned the trick  
To entertain plurality of servants;  
Some for their purse, and they maintain them  
In all their riots and extravagant  
Fancies; others for their ability  
And strength of back, these are their Night-servants;  
Some for their wit are likewise entertained,  
And those they term Platonics, that by the  
Conveyance of the Soul, at a long run  
Come to participate corporeal favours.  Ticket. 
These humours heighten me: prithee let's go,  
That I may be a witness how much Ladies  
Are improved during my Travels.  Rant. 
If miracles will work upon thy faith,  
Come, follow me.  Exeunt.  

Scoena Secunda.  Virginio. Celia. Matrona. Virgi. 
THou art the joy and comfort of my age,  
Nor can I be too careful in my love,  
By placing over thee a Governess,  
Whose aged experience may instruct thy youth,  
And keep it from those by-paths the beauties  
Of our age wander, and lose themselves in.  Celia. 
Sir, I hope  
The breeding, and good education,  
You liberally have enriched my youth with,  
Have made such deep impressions in my nature,  
By figuring on it Virtues Characters,  
You need not doubt, altho' you left me to  
Myself, my virtue, or ability  
To guide my honour, and govern my own fortunes.  Vir. 
It is not doubted, my dearest Celia,  
Or of thy virtue or discretion  
In managing, and governing thyself,  
Thy Fortunes, or thy Reputation:  
It is my care to see thee well bestowed,  
Richly, as thou deserv'st: to which intent,  
Out of my fatherly affection to thee,  
I have provided thee a Husband, wealthy  
And young enough. No blushing, Girl, but let  
Thy wont obedience meet with my commands.  Celia. 
You cannot tax, I hope, in any thing  
My disobedience, my ready duty  
Having waited still on your commands.  Virg. 
I do confess it; nor can you deny  
That my care hath recompensed thy duty,  
A continuance whereof, will more and more  
Endear my love and thee, to my affection.  Celia. 
If you loved me, Sir, as you do seem  
To flatter my belief, you could not be  
So ready and solicitous to part with me.  Virg. 
Nor am I, Girl; I do not part with thee,  
I but prefer thee to a noble choice:  
For when thou art married, thou shalt live with me.  
As now thou dost, and I shall love thee more,  
If my affections will admit increase:  Celia. 
Say that you still should love me, how can I  
Answer with duty, that paternal love,  
When you have given up in me  
Your interest, I in myself my own,  
Unto a Husband; to whom I then must pay  
The love and duty that's now due to you?  Virg. 
Thou plead'st so prettily that trust me I could  
Almost let my Reason yield unto thy fond  
Affection: but when thou art  
Married, Girl, and knowst the sweetness of that  
Happy state, thou'lt sing me a new song.  Coeli. 
I wish no richer knowledge than my Duty,  
Nor better companions than my own  
Chaste thoughts.  Virg. 
And for a while enjoy thy wish:  
If you die an old maid, the worst is yours.  
Go in, and send Matrona hither.  Exit Celia. 
Not marry? it is somewhat strange for Girls  
Of her sprightly humour, in the teens  
So far advanced, to refuse so good offers:  
But possibly she hath some other love,  
Some needy Rascal, whose wit outweighs his wealth,  
That will enjoynter her in Parnassus' Hill:  
By th' Mass I'll none of that; but did I think  
'Twere her chaste strictness to a Virgin's life,  
I would as yet dispense her being a wife.  
Welcome Matrona.  Enter Matrona. Matr. 
My charge made me believe your worship sent for me.  Virg. 
I did: for as I have unto thy care  
Committed th'only Jewel of my life;  
So I would not have thee ignorant of  
My intents in placing thee her Governess.  Matr. 
Your worship did very discreetly in't.  Virg. 
I know not that; it is as you discharge  
The careful trust imposed upon you.  
Now my design in placing of you here,  
Is for to pry into her actions,  
Her thoughts, if possible, to find  
How her affections stand, and to whom.  Matr. 
You could not have chose an apt instrument: I am used to these discoveries; in one half hour I can insinuate myself into her heart, there know her secret sins, there see her smallest thoughts as plain as you do now her face:  Virg. 
I do believe it; however, be it  
Your care to put all this in practice;  
Search to the depth, try her, and sound her heart,  
Which in appearance seemeth all obedience.  Matr. 
And Maidens oft dissemble, that I can tell you:  
My charge is witty too, plaguy cunning.  Virg. 
'Tis that I fear; yet did I make trial  
Of her inclinations towards marriage,  
By propounding to her a wealthy husband;  
Handsome, and not far in years.  Matr. 
I marry Sir, those were baits to catch a maid, and cause her blood to make an insurrection in her veins: did not your worship perceive at the mention of a husband, a blush, a smile, or alteration in her countenance? Now by the concupiscence of my flesh, I do believe it moved her much.  Virg. 
Not in the least, she continued cold  
As a widow's tears, I hope not so deceitful.  Matr. 
Trust her not, not half so far as you can see her: take it on my experience, a maid of seventeen cannot relent so coldly the motion of a husband, unless she were elsewhere provided.  Virg. 
I do believe the same; tho' she did strive  
For to insinuate into my thoughts,  
It was her love to me, and to a single life.  Matr. 
Pshaw, pshaw, mere dissembling: believe a Maid in love! believe an Infidel, and turn Atheist sooner.  Virg. 
Well, I leave her to thy wise examination,  
In which use all thy art, and utmost skill,  
The while I will absent myself, and give  
Thee way to work.  Matr. 
Your worship doth discreetly; for in your absence, she will appear more open.  Exeunt. Enter Celia from behind the Arras. Celia. 
'Twas well I overheard your plots; for now  
Being forewarned, I know to be forearmed;  
What a deceitful creature this old  
Woman is! how she improved my father's  
Jealousies! twenty to one, I should  
Have trusted her with the secret of my love,  
And so betrayed it to my father's wrath,  
Lost that affection which I hold so dear,  
And what to me's more dear, Philostratus:  
But I am safe, and all their plots are vain,  
Being counterplotted by my woman's brain.  Exit.  

Scoena Tertia.  Gambugium, Clittomestra, Aeuta, Clysterpipe. Gambug. 
MY blessing, Daughter, and dear Wife; go in,  
The air is humid, it will do thee harm:  
Thou art but weak, my lamb; good honey, in.  Clittom. 
Do you think that I can cloister up myself,  
Be kept cooped, like a Chicken in a Pen,  
For you, or any man's pleasure? tho' you be  
My Husband, you're not my Jailor.  Gambug. 
Nor do desire, chick, nor do desire;  
It is pro sanitate tantum, that I speak it,  
For thy health sake, merely out of love: alas,  
What were't to me, to let thee go abroad,  
Expose thy tender body to the frigid  
Vapours of the air, were't not my love, my love,  
Still to preserve thee mine?  Clittom. 
Rather your jealousy, that I  
Should sometimes prove another's.  Gambug. 
Fie, fie, thou art too waspish: I' faith 'tis  
No jealousy in the world, but of thy health;  
And that concerns all loving husbands to  
Be jealous of.  Clittom. 
Well, since your jealousy is no other, I will obey you, Sir: but, I hope, tho' you confine me to my chamber, because the Air is but just parboiled by the Sun, and, as you term it, raw; good company are not against your rules of health.  Exit. Glister. 
But much against the rules of honesty.  Acut. 
And why so, good Monsieur Clysterpipe?  Glister. 
I said it to please my Master merely, sweet  
Young Mistress: may I renew my suit?  Acut. 
It had need; for it is a threadbare one.  Glister. 
Sweet Mistress, you are too quick.  Acuta. 
If a dead one be for your diet, the Anatomy above will neither be too quick, nor too sweet for you: I need none of your Glisters.  Glister. 
Many a better have been glad to dance after my Pipe.  Exit Acuta. Gambug. 
Keep her chamber, to entertain Gallants!  
Oh my head, my brains, my budding head! I were  
Better have let her gone abroad, then thus  
Have given her a private liberty  
To be horrid; I dare not name it to myself:  
A Chamber! a bed! oh my perplexed thoughts!  
The deed is doing now, even now, and yet  
I stay, just like a Wittol, to connive  
At my own shame: why Clysterpipe!  Glister. 
Did your Worship call, Sir?  Gambug. 
Softly, you rogue; lay your ear close, closer  
To this passage; hark, if you do not hear  
The creaking of some Courtier's shoes.  A Jack wound up. 
Devil, the very bed-ropes crack.  Glister. 
No, Sir, 'tis only the winding of the Jack;  
I hear it plain.  Gambug. 
'Tis well it was no worse: good Clysterpipe,  
I am sent for now to Court; in haste to Court:  
Be in my absence watchful hereabout.  
See thou observest who enters and goes out:  
Here, take my Table-book, prick all down there.  Glister. 
Not what the Gallants prick down in my Mistress Chamber.  Gambug. 
Their names, you Rascal, their names; and when they are entered, be sure thy eye keep faithful watch upon them, through that hole, that cranny, dost thou see? and all their actions faithfully set down, rendering me my books at my return: wilt thou deal faithfully?  Glister. 
Indeed I will.  Gamb. 
And thou shalt have such a reward,  
If thou canst make discovery.  Glister. 
Master, be confident, Argus with's hundred eyes, never watched Io with half the circumspection I will her.  Gambug. 
Dear, honest Clysterpipe, thou art my confidence.  Exit. Glister. 
Now am I in Authority, and will be severe in my Office; for I can bid stand to any man, and for his passage, stand high in my Mistress favour. But by your favour then, good Master Glist erpipe, where's your fidelity? why, within my Mistress purse-strings: Can it there abide? No, for my Mistress gold may drive it thence. Therefore good fidelity return into my bosom, and guard the little Infidel my Mistress, and witty Pagan her Daughter. See, they come; now to my watch.   

Scoena Quarta.  Clysterpipe, Clittomestra, Acuta. Clitto. 
DAughter, 'tis Courtly; must we live Cloistered up,  
Retired like Anchorites, persons merely borne  
To converse with walls, or Courtiers in  
The Arras? where's then content, our liberty,  
That noble freedom women were born with?  
Shall I, because I'm married, bar myself  
Of noble friendship, and society;  
Or you, to please a Father's jealous humour,  
Live a neglected and obscure Maid,  
Nor seen nor spoken of, whilst other  
Meaner beauties are admired, loved—?  Acuta. 
Yes, and Courted, hurried to the Park,  
Treated at Mulberry, presented at  
The Change: of all this, dear Mother,  
Am I sensible, as of my Father's  
Peevish jealousy, which, if you please  
Give way, shall no more chain our liberty,  
Or circumscribe our pleasures, yet  
All this be done, and he contented too;  
For therein doth consist the wit,  
And management of the design.  Clitto. 
Thou tak'st me strangely: but how should thy  
Few years arrive at this rare knowledge,  
Which my whole age could not enrich me with?  Acuta. 
You took another way, more suiting to  
Your nature; that is, by the torrent  
Of your will, and higher spirit, to bear all  
Before you; but this augments my Father's  
Jealousy, excites betwixt you daily discontents:  
My way's more sweet, and easy,  
To appear a most obedient Wife, yet be  
A sole Commandress of your will and pleasure.  Clitto. 
How greedily my ear drinks up thy voice!  
Couldst thou but add performance to thy Speech,  
We were both happy.  Acuta. 
Be so, dear Mother, change but your high strain,  
Seeming obedient to my Father's will,  
And leave the rest to me; in the mean time,  
Prepare yourself to entertain the Courtiers.  Clitto. 
I fly, dear Daughter, leaving all to thee.  Exit. Acut. 
You may rely, this fellow here is set  
By my father's jealousy (I know) to watch:  
But I unto his honour still must prove  
The faithfullest watch, however I keep times  
With some small follies, to prevent great crimes.  Exit. Glis. 
They're gone: now must my observation make use of my Table-book: My Mistress and her Daughter— were in consultation— upon a conspiracy— a quarter of an hour— five minutes— and a moment.—  Writes. A Table covered. Enter Acuta with a mess of Cream, set's it on the Table. Glis. 
But soft, what have we here? delicious Cream,  
By the Mass; that's more than I know, before I  
Taste it: 'tis well sweetened; Oh delicate Ambrosia!  
I'll eat more, it won't be missed: I could even go to Noddy.  
Oh! Oh! Oh!  Sleeps. Enter Acuta. Acut. 
So, he's fast; the plot hath ta'en, the Opium done its part. But soft, what's here? A Table-book! let me see: My Mistress and her daughter were in consultation— hum— upon a conspiracy— hum— a mess of Cream— this I'll blot out, and write thus— No creature hath been here since you went out: My Mistress and her Daughter spent their time in prayer.  
So into his pocket with it.  
This happily is dispatched, and whilst you sleep,  
A truer watch I'll on my Mother keep.  Exit.  

Scoena Quinta.  Rant, Ticket, Clysterpipe, Clittomestra, Acuta. Ran. 
THis is the mansion, Lad, a poor outside,  
But richly lined with beauty, love, courtship,  
And complaisance; what wouldst thou more?  Tick. 
Why Rant, I'd see all this thou talk'st of, these  
Miracles that thou delud'st my faith with.—  Rant. 
Peace, Infidel, thou shalt, and be as soon  
Converted; I'll enter thee into a rich  
Acquaintance, into a society  
Will steal thy heart through the portals of  
Thy eyes, if thou not summon for a guard  
What is most man within thee.  Tick. 
That at my peril, Rant: but we lose time.  Ran. 
Come, we'll enter further: but soft, here's her man,  
I'll waken him: Oh, sirrah!  Tick. 
How fast he is! Is he not dead?  Ran. 
Your foot disturbed his slumber: hark how he snores! The other kick wakes him.  Glis. 
Eay, ay, a mess of Cream.  Ran. 
Pox take you, Skim-milk: where's your Mistress?  Tick. 
Pish, he's fast: the noise of a Bear-garden would scarce move him.  Enter Clittomestra, Acuta. Ran. 
There let him lie: Here comes the Ladies; we'll move them. Ladies, will you pardon your servants boldness, in presenting a Traveller and Friend of mine to your acquaintance?  Clit. 
No doubt he is a Gentleman of those choice parts, may challenge without commendations, greater favours: but I shall take notice of him as your friend: you're welcome Signior.  Tick. 
I am ambitious to be known by the title of your servant, Madam.  Salutes her. Clit. 
Your travels, I suppose, Sir, have afforded you  
Such excellent choice patterns of our Sex,  
And such variety, that 'twere a sin  
To undervalue you with any title  
Meaner than a friend.  Tick. 
You're too bountiful:  
Call me your slave, your bondman: no office (Madam)  
Can be base, or mean, that hath the least  
Relation unto you, whose sole virtue  
Is sufficient to ennoble it.  Clit. 
You're a Courtier, Sir, as well as Traveller;  
And where these two perfections meet in one,  
They needs must overcome: I see it is  
A vanity, either to argue your  
Own noble worth, or my native meanness:  
Since at once, you can exalt the one,  
And at your pleasure render the other low.  Tick. 
we'll not fall out for titles; I'd be owned  
By that would most endear me to your love.  Clit. 
Then be my friend.  Tick. 
I would your nearest, Madam, dearest and constantest.  Clit. 
Did ever man mean constantly?  Tick. 
Ask whether the Sun affords his light to all,  
Whether the Sea be governed by the Moon  
Man subject unto frailty, any thing,  
That is more common, visible and plain,  
Rather than question my integrity,  
My constancy, and faithfulness in love.  
Do Usurers love and dote upon their Gold?  
With the same superstition I'll love you.  
Do happy men desire and cherish life?  
With the same care will I preserve your love;  
Be as far from boasting of your favours,  
As Religious men their charitable Alms.  Clit. 
Your nobleness confirms your constant mind;  
But yet you are a stranger: altho' I must  
Confess, your language is so powerful,  
And bears such a similitude with truth,  
That not to credit it were heresy.  Tick. 
Dear Madam, you may without danger place  
The smallest accent falling from my tongue,  
An article in your belief.— Lady,  
 found a man, whose constancy's more firm  
Than Fate, whose love's more fervent than Aetna's  
Fiery bosom; more fruitful than the day,  
Which cannot pass without some novelty,  
Nor can my love without new services:  
I breath and live, but to no other end;  
I was made to serve you, you the fair shrine  
To which I ought to dedicate my actions:  
All that I am, or can be, 's in your power.  
Should I prove false, your frown may strike me dead;  
And being so, your smile renew my life.  
Did you but know your absolute command,  
Your power to make me happy, with your  
Prerogative to inflict upon me  
Punishments, to which Hells torments  
Are mere pastimes, you would be merciful,  
And not torment, by your suspicion, one  
So firmly dedicated to your service.  Clitto. 
These are bewitching accents sure; I thought  
To play but wantonly with Love, and like  
A fly about a candle's blaze, have singed  
My wings, and perished in the flame.  Ticket. 
I fear my discourse is tedious;  
For I perceive a discomposure in your looks,  
As if my speech and presence were unwelcome.  Clitto. 
 little skill, Sir, in Physiognomy:  
For I have heard such excellent discourse,  
That I could live and die upon the lips  
From whence it flowed.  Ticket. 
Nothing, Madam, but what your beauty formed,  
Which, should I speak unto its smallest worth,  
I must speak wonders, and from your face  
Make all succeeding Poets to derive  
Their highest Epithets.  
Dearest Lady, you, who only are  
Worthy to be styled fair;  
Whose virtue doth enshrine,  
And make your beauty more divine:  
Bow down those Rosy Twins of bliss,  
That I may surfeit of a kiss,  
And of that surfeit die,  
Engraving on your lips mine Elegy.  Clitto. 
Who can deny a favour begged like this?  Ticket. 
One, freely granted, makes a double kiss.  Rant. 
By Heaven, you're more fair and beautiful  
Then the grey-eyed morn, dressed in her clearest  
Robes, such as adorn her in the spring.  Acut. 
Suppose it granted, what do you infer from this?  Rant. 
That all the world (fair Lady) are obliged  
To admire, love, or rather reverence,  
The divine seat of so much beauty.  Acuta. 
And amongst the rest, you'd enter into bond.  Rant. 
Lady, I'd be your bondslave, one of the meanest  
Admirers and celebraters of your beauty.  Acuta. 
I'd rather cancel your obligation, and have my  
Beauty celebrated at liberty, that's at your own  
Discretion, Sir.  Rant. 
By Jove thou hast an excellent wit too, and I love that.  Acuta. 
Nay, if you so soon diversify in your affection, and  
Make a digression from beauty to wit, I have  
Done with you.  Rant. 
Excuse me, Lady, wit's an interior beauty; I hope  
You'll give me leave in liveliest colours to set  
Forth your excellence; and having given you  
Reasons why you're lovely, I may the easier persuade  
You that I love you.  Acut. 
I wish I could as easily believe: but since I afford  
You the liberty of speaking, you cannot in justice  
Deny me the like freedom in believing.  Rant. 
Well, Madam, I hope we shall not always differ thus: the better you know me.—  Acut. 
The less I shall trust you: your friend is taking  
Leave of my Mother, which makes me leave you  
To your compliment.  Ticket. 
Madam, I am your Creature: whither away, Little beauty?  Snatches Acuta by the hand. Acuta. 
Not the right way, since I could not avoid yours.  Ticket. 
Did you know how much I love and honour  
You, dear Lady, you'd think your way were right;  
I'm sure I do; direct my purpose so,  
My honest faithful love: never till now  
Did such a glorious constellation break,  
And lay itself open to a mortal eye;  
You're by all the reverence I own your name,  
By my vowed love, by thy fair self, which is  
The most of all; the only beauty that I ever saw.  Acut. 
Alas, poor Sir, how long since have you recovered your eyesight?  Ticket. 
Now I have lost it (Lady) ne'er till now,  
Blinded with the glorious beams of your  
Beauty, by the ardour of my own true love.  Acuta. 
Alas! poor love, such an affection had need of a dog to lead it.  Ticket. 
No, I cannot miss my way to such a  
Light: for all the paths of excellence and  
Virtue do lead unto it. Would I behold  
The Sun in its true glory? it must then be  
In that divine and glorious Firmament:  
Would I obtain the knowledge of the Stars,  
All their powerful influence upon me?  
I'd have recourse unto those starry twins,  
Your eyes; for they command my destiny,  
Govern my fortunes.  Acut. 
Take breath, good Monsieur, take breath; you'll want it for the next Mistress you go to.  Ticket. 
You may well despise so mean a servant,  
Lady; but if upon my love you please  
To cast a favourable eye, you'll find  
It so faithful, fixed, and constant, that tho'  
It be within the power of your frowns  
To look me dead, your greatest scorns are not  
Of force to set a period to my love.  Acut. 
I have no power left for scorns: what's this I feel? Oh! you think you've done't to purpose now: how many of these fine speeches can you afford a penny?  Ticket. 
They are not mercenary words; poor breath,  
And yet ambitious by its constancy,  
To win the greatest beauty the World hath.  Acut. 
Oh! these word, do melt the Virgin-snow  
About my heart: I dare no longer stay;  
For if I do, I'm lost. Oh, 'tis pity  
Nature contrived a tongue with so much art,  
Then wedded it unto so false a heart.  Exit. Clit. 
My Daughter gone?  Tick. 
Wearied, Madam, with the dulness of my discourse.  Clit. 
That would rather invite her stay,  
It is so charming.  Tick. 
'Tis much honoured by your approbation, Madam:  
Whilst I am, rest confident of a servant.  Rant. 
Lady, we'll cease to be at this time more importunate.  Ticket. 
Your humble servant: your directions shall be my guide.  Clit. 
Before the Sun takes Coach, you'll hear from me.  
Your Servant, gentlemans.  Exeunt. Enter Acuta with a Note. Acut. 
What, is he gone so soon, before my pen  
Can figure forth the smallest of my thoughts?  
Traitorous love, to steal upon my heart  
Thus, like a thief, insensibly: poor maid!  
To lose at first the glory of thy scorn,  
To play, and jest away thy freedom thus;  
And, to a man, that I believe more false,  
Then a flattering dream, and more illusive!  
Yet, why do I say false? his protestations  
Were as firm as truth; his face  
Too smooth, if well observed, for to conceal  
A falsehood. How prettily my love doth  
Plead in his defence!  He wakes. Glister. 
Oh, oh, hay, Madam Acuta, I had the prettiest dream!  Acut. 
Some means I'll work, to make him know I love;  
Being first assured that he will constant prove.  Exit. Glister. 
Oh the uncharitable wretch, to leave me all alone! now am I as amorous as a dancing Ape, and as lecherous as an old lousy beggar. Well, this quarter parcel of Virginity will not out of my mind, and yet she will not mind me: but I'll have a conceit shall tickle her yet, make her a bill of my affection, and give her so many Items of my good parts.  
If that don't win her, may all Lovers prove  
Full of deceit, not conceit, in their love.  Exit.   

ACTUS Secundus.  

Scoena Prima.  Celia, Matrona. Mat. 
SWeet Ladybird, do not frown; you'll mar the beauty of your looks.  Coel. 
Why? if I do, I hope they are my own.  Mat. 
Tho' now they are, they must shortly be another's: preserve them, Mistress', for a husband.  Coel. 
Good Antiquity, sputter farther off; I have no time for trifles.  Mat. 
But you must listen to the experience of the old: age is honourable; and my place requires some reverence.  Coel. 
What, Groom of my stool?  Mat. 
These are unreverent words to your Governess.  Coel. 
Governess? what proud fool dares hope that glorious title o'er me? thou, I know, canst not expect any thing beyond what Nature did intent thee for, a Baud.  Mat. 
Minion, minion, you shall know, I am your Governess.  Coel. 
Again that word? thou prodigy of age, how darest thou tempt my patience? Think not, whilst I know who I am, and where I am, my Father's Daughter in my Father's house, there shall be any Governess but I  Mat. 
I'll be your adviser then.  Coel. 
I'd advise you to be less saucy, woman, and know your distance: when I need you, or your advice, I'll call for you; till when, it will become your duty to be silent, and not abuse my Father's charity. He take thee for a Governess! alas, poor woman, how I pity thy wrong judgement! he took thee of mere charity, good man, it is his usual course.  Mat. 
She'll persuade me I am a beggar straight, a right worshipful subject for a Broker's charity.— Lady, however you are pleased to abuse me in your Father's absence, I must tell you I was entertained on other conditions.  Coel. 
And I tell thee, thou doting Woman, thou hast never a good condition to be entertained for.  Mat. 
Well, I am patiented, you see: we old folks are fools; my love makes me bear all: I can take nothing ill from my sweet Mistress: Youth will make merry with Age. Dear sweet Mistress, I'll be any thing to please you.  Coel. 
Be silent then, and hold thy prate; dost think my fortunes can be bettered by thy advice, or prejudiced without it? or hath my Father placed you here a Prologue to my Maidenhead, to tell each gallant, as he passes by, what's to be had within?  Mat. 
I am sorry, Lady, you should thus misconstrue my love; bend only to your service, myself your creature, who would be willingly employed in any thing, that might be grateful to you.— I know you are a Maid, a ripe one; and to some one particular bear an affection: give me, sweet Ladybird, the secret, and you shall see how suddenly I'll work your will; how secretly, with what dexterity I'll manage your affection. If this, or all the endeavours of my life can gain your good opinion, sweet Ladybird, command me.  Celia. 
Then I command thy absence; thy fight is a  
Disease as killing as the Plague: how well  
Did my Prophetic spirit guests, when I  
Did call thee Bawd, a promoter of base lust?  
For now I find thee a most deceitful  
And a treacherous one— I'd have thee know,  
'Tis not within the magic of thy tongue  
To pervert my chastity, tho' you hid  
Beneath the heavenly name of love  
Your Devil, lust. Dost think, thou rottenness,  
I am so much a fool, as to believe  
Thou canst be true to me, that to  
My Father's trust provest such a traitor?— But  
For blistering of my tongue, I now could  
Curse thee, curse thee to Hell, to warm thy old  
Decayed lecherous trunk.  Mat. 
You know I don't deserve this.  Coel. 
Away, dissembler, hypocrites; dost weep,  
And think to chain my weak belief with tears?  Mat. 
No; theyare tears of love, caused by unkindness.  Coel. 
Whate'er they are, I hate both them and thee:  
Avoid my fight, thou most corrupted shroud,  
Lest that my rage enforce me set a mark  
Upon thy lewdness. I command thee hence.  Mat. 
Well, well, I must obey: your Father will come home.  Exit Matrona. Coel. 
I know he will, and that all this discourse  
Flies swiftly to his ear; but I shall be  
Prepared.— I am glad I've worked this Satan hence;  
To whom I was obliged use this rough strain,  
To keep her too insinuating notes  
At a due distance from my heart: for had  
I given her dissimulation way,  
I had undone myself, who am too apt  
By fair pretences to be wrought upon:  
But whilst I kept her at a distance thus,  
She could not close; and I, as if I were  
In an enchanted Circle, stood secure,  
Upon the Centre of my resolution.  
But now I must prepare for a new onset,  
A Father's severe brow: assist me Wit,  
And Love assist me too, to counterfeit  
As many humours as Proteus shapes:  
My Philostratus too, I must instruct,  
That he may be as ready in his part  
As I: for love hath taught me mine by heart.  Exit.  

Scoena Secunda.  Gambugium, Clittomestra, Acuta, Clysterpipe. Gam. 
STand aside a while; I'll kiss thee anon:  
Come hither, Clysterpipe; hast thou set down?  Glist. 
Verbatim, Sir, as this Book shall specify.  Gam. 
'Tis well, 'tis well: umh, 'em, 'em. At her Devotion:  
That was somewhat like: No Gallant here. A  
Good amendment still. Come hither, Wife:  
And now I'll kiss thee, honey.  Clit. 
When you please, Sir: it is most fit  
That I expect your appetite.  Gam. 
Oh sweet alteration! why now thou art my  
Life, my heart, my soul; what shall I term  
Thee, to express my love? my joy is now at  
Full, and makes my blood to caper in my veins:  
These dainties are not to be parted with.  
Now tell me, Dear, how in my absence didst  
Employ thy time?  Clit. 
Oh Sir, it was exceeding tedious to me:  
When you are out, me thinks I miss part of  
Myself within. I spent my time  
As suited best my thoughts, in melancholy,  
Until my Daughter came to comfort me,  
By reading to me a Religious Tract,  
A Treatise made against incontinence;  
So excellent a piece, that credit me  
It might convert the boldest Courtesan;  
And yet 'tis useful to the chastest wife:  
I found much comfort in't: believe me, Sir,  
There is no happiness like contemplation.  Gam. 
Nor no felicity like such a Wife.  Clit. 
For contemplation elevates our joy,  
And mitigates extremity of grief:  
It sweetly passes over tedious time,  
And sweetens all afflicting accidents.  Gam. 
It does, it does, sweet heart, and comforts me.  
My thanks to thee, dear daughter, who found out  
So good an entertainment for my Wife.  Acut. 
It is my duty, Sir, to study both your satisfactions.  Gam. 
And our happiness to have so blessed a child.  
However virtue doth reward herself,  
Many are virtuous only for reward;  
Therefore 'tis good for to encourage them,  
And let them know they have done well:  
Here, Daughter, take this, 'twill buy a handsome  
Dressing for thy head: I love to see  
Thee neat: and, dearest Wife, this brace of Angels  
Shall henceforth be thy guard: they flew into  
My purse this morning, next my heart.  Clit. 
I thank you, Sir; as many of these guardians as you please.  Gam. 
I'll out, and get thee more: be merry in my absence,  
Lamb: nay, prithee look not sad; for than  
Thy over-kindness will afflict me more,  
Then my suspicion ever did before.  
Here, take my Book; thou knowst thy task.  Exeunt. Glister. 
Fear nothing, Sir.  Clit. 
Ha', ha', ha'! be merry, Lamb; your counsel I will take:  
Sadness ne'er enters here, till you come back.  Acut. 
Dear Mother, tell me how you now approve  
My counsel; how like you the success?  
Is not this better than continual brawls,  
Hourly jealousies and discontents?  Clit. 
Much better, Daughter; now we have his heart,  
His purse, himself, and all, at our command.  
I do applaud thy wit, and love thee for't:  
But, dear Acuta, I have a new design.  Acut. 
every my knowledge with't; and if it rest  
Within the compass of a woman's brain,  
Account it done.  Clitto. 
You make me happy, child;  
For this requires more Secrecy than Wit:  
I dare trust none but thee: this small Letter  
Would I have speedily conveyed.  Acut. 
With secrecy?  Clitto. 
With all caution, into the hands of that Same stranger-Gentleman.  Acut. 
Think it done, and 'tis so: have you any Further service?  Clitto. 
Only this.  Acut. 
Account it done: in the mean time, good Mother,  
Let's give no nourishment to my Father's  
Jealousy, by a long conference.  Clitto. 
Fear nothing; he is at Court by this.  Acut. 
But his intelligencer is at home.  Clitto. 
How I love thy discreet caution!  Exit. Acut. 
You would have cause, dear Mother, knew you all.  
Now to my Letter; it bears direction,  
To Her most bonoured Friend Mr. Ticket;  
That's His name: this is a new discovery.  
By your leave, Mother, I'll make bold and read it.  
Dear Sir,  
Your Courtship was so powerful, few or none could resist; it was not at least in my power: but, whether the eloquence of your language, or excellence of your Person won the victory upon me, is disputable: certainly both concurred to complete your Merit. By promise I was to appoint the place of a second interview: but since finding myself guilty of too much modesty, to undertake so great a piece of confidence, I most humbly desire you so far to indulge my bashfulness, and dispense with my promise, as to make the appointment yourself; where I may appear  
Your most affectionate Friend and Servant, Clittomestra.  Acut. 
Where you may appear a wild licentious woman  
But I'll divert your ill intents to good,  
And keep you virtuous against your will:  
Besides, I love the Gentleman myself,  
Though he be much unworthy of my love;  
For it should seem he courted my Mother  
To the same height of ardency in love,  
As he did me. Inconstancy of man!  
Oh men, what are you! and what fools are we,  
To credit your false vows! henceforth I'll take  
My heart a little nearer to myself:  
Though I must love him still, I'll be so wise,  
To credit no man's vows before my eyes:  
Howe'er, this interview I can prevent,  
Writing a Letter to a wrong intent:  
But by this wrong, I do my Father right,  
Besides a justice to my love; nor can  
My Mother, when chaste thoughts take place, condemn  
Me for't— It is resolved, I will about it straight:  
Delay's are dangerous in affairs of weight.  Exit.  

Scoena Tertia.  Virgini, Matrona, Celia. Mat. 
SHe is, saving your Worship's reverence, possessed; but with such a spirit, that all the Conjurers in Town Shall never lay.  Virg. 
Why, what said She to thee?  Mat. 
Nay, what did She not say? when I told Her, I was  
To be Her Governess, She roared louder than a  
Cannon, and had like to have destroyed me with  
The artillery of Her high language: She scolded  
Faster than a Billingsgate Oysterwench, and railed  
At me with as great a liberty, as an ignorant  
Fanatic at a stand in his Text, ever did against  
The Pope; baited me worse than his Bull could  
Be at Geneva, and threatened, if I but  
Urged the name of Governess, it should be my last.  Virg. 
Thou dost belie Her now; I know thou dost:  
Her nature is more soft, than finest down;  
Her behaviour most sweet, and affable,  
And never guilty of such a rudeness  
As thou deliverest. She is not half  
So spleenitive as a Dove; a fish is scarce  
So silent as she, when She's admonished.  
She threaten thee! fie, 'tis impossible:  
She'd scarce menace a Dog that bites Her.  Mat. 
I know not, but am sure I was afraid  
Of my eyes: and then I did comply, told Her  
I'd be her servant: She called me Bawd, old  
Rottenness, and such language as was beyond  
The patience of a Stoic. I still bore, gave Her  
Sweet language, offered to serve her in any secret  
Of Her dearest love; but still was rated at.  Virg. 
It is beyond a miracle; I cannot credit it.  Mat. 
Stand but aside, and witness it: I hear Her coming.  Enter Celia dressed like a Puritan. 
What, Lady, changed your dress?  Coel. 
You see, good Governess, the effects of your commands: your counsels have opened my eyes, and made me see the vanities of youth.  Mat. 
You're deceived, dear Mistress; I'd have you brave, gallant, glittering with Jewels, decked with ribbans, gaudier than the rainbow.  Coel. 
Good Mother, do not try me with too many and fierce temptations: I am not fully strengthened in faith yet; the Snares of Satan may entrap me.  Mat. 
I'the Devils name, how came She changed thus?  Coel. 
Holy Governess, will you conduct me, according to  
Your promise, to the Conventicle of Religious Brethren?  Mat. 
I promise, sweet Creature, to get thee a Husband, a valiant man.  Coel. 
That were irreligious: get me a sanctified Husband,  
A man of the purest reformation.  Virg. 
My Child's spoiled; the Trot has abused me, infused  
Three long points and a half of Predestination into Her  
Head, and made Her as mad as a French Tailor,  
Whose brains are whimsied with an inundation  
Of new fashions.— But I'll hear more.  Coel. 
Whereabout stand all the meeting-houses? how  
Many Lectures are there a week?  Mat. 
Are you mad? what have you to do with Lectures  
And Meeting-Houses? how came you changed thus?  
Did you not ere while abuse me in as imperious  
A strain as a thrice-married Widow?  Coel. 
Goodness forbidden! the vanity of my spirit rise in  
Insurrection against the elder? that were surely  
Reprobation; by yea and nay, damnation.  Mat. 
Out, dissembler! did you not call me Bawd,  
Trot, and other beastly names?  Coel. 
Verily you do scandalise the Righteous: but by revelation it was revealed to me, that I should suffer; and by inspiration I received it in spirit, that the beginning of my Reformation would be a Conflict of warfare and temptation.  Virg 
I can contain no longer.— How now, Daughter! No blessing?  Coel. 
The sanctified Sisters do not use it, trust me.  
It is superstitious and abominable in the eyes  
Of Reformation.  Virg. 
Oh my heart! I now begin to fear  
She's too far gone to be reclaimed in haste.  
Daughter, I've brought thee home a brave rich Gown,  
Two scollopt Gorgets of the newest cut,  
And Suits of several fashionable Ribbans:  
I love to see thee gallant: Virgins still  
Should be desirous of all novelties.  Coel. 
I'll have none, they are the very cobwebs of Satan.  
Afflict not my memory with the errors of my  
Youth; all these vanities are now abominations.  
Therefore I'll go humble myself, that is, make  
Myself humble, and depress the spirit of  
Vanity.  Exit. Virg. 
Oh thou Witch-hagg; either reduce Her from  
This Frenzy, or ne'er see my face.  Mat. 
I'll use my endeavour, Sir.  Exit. Virg. 
Oh curious fool, that sought to pry into  
Thy Daughter's thoughts! thy curiosity  
Is now repaid from a high hand. Heaven  
Restore my Child unto Her former wits,—  
Or else let me restore Her unto you.—  
Give Her, or take Her: griefs, you are but weak,  
That cannot make an old man's heart to break.   

Scoena Quarta.  Blunt, Virginio, Celia, Matrona. Blunt. 
HOw cheer you forsooth? my Mistress, the Lady  
Your Daughter, I hope She be in health.  Virg. 
Never worse, Sir, never worse, Mr. Blunt:  
However, you show your love in ask after her.  Blunt. 
Truly forsooth it doth afflict me much.  Virg. 
Passion will do no good, Mr. Blunt: I did intent  
You for my Son-in-law; but some hypocritical  
Varlet hath spoiled my Daughter; she is not  
What she was.  Blunt. 
Goodness sake, Sir, is she not a maid still?  Virg. 
For aught I know; but such a precise Sister  
She's grown, you'll scarce know her: she has  
Lost her wit too: you know she was full of  
Jests, witty girds, for which I loved her; now  
She's the plainest thing!  Blunt. 
Trust me I shall like her the better; for her wit  
Was a razor to my nature: if she be grown a plain  
Dealer, let me alone, if downright dealing  
Will do it.  Virg. 
I am glad it pleases you: I wish you had her: I'm  
Sure it troubles me, afflicts me much, and so would  
Any one that loves her think: she'll talk you  
Twelve hours of Predestination, Reformation,  
Sanctification, Tribulation, Reprobation,  
Damnation, and such a spawn of Fanatic  
Words, that in plain English I think she's mad.  Blunt. 
That's another good sign: if she be mad,  
I shall speak sense enough to Court her; for I  
Can never have the face, such is my foolish  
Bashfulness, to speak to a woman in her wits.  Virg. 
Then my afflictions are your solace, Sir.  Blunt. 
I am of age, forsooth, to know my own inclinations.  Virg. 
Nay, understand me, Sir, I am glad she  
Pleases you; I thought her a lost child, a castaway:  
But your discretion may reform her.  Blunt. 
I warrant you, forsooth, if she will but conform:  
For look you, I am a man of few words, forsooth; Plain  
deal's a Jewel, that's my Motto: but if she expect  
Fine finical Phrases, Meteors, and Folligismes.—  Virg. 
You mean Syllogisms, and Metaphors.  Blunt. 
I do profess I do, forsooth; my meaning's good; and if she'll take me by that, never a shoemaker in Christendom can fit her better for downright dealing.  Virg. 
Peace, here she comes; let's observe her.  Enter Celia, Matrona. Coel. 
Matrona, Fie, it is a scurrilous profane name: thou  
Shalt be new dipped, and receive the sanctified name  
Of Tabytha, and I will be called Rachel; yea, Rachel  
Shall be My appellation.—  Virg. 
My Celia, here's Mr. Blunt, your servant, to kiss  
Your hands: what, no answer?  Mat. 
Not unless you call her Rachel: she's new dipped.  Virg. 
Sir, go to her; may be she'll be ashamed, before you,  
To play the fool so.  Blunt. 
In the mean time, I am such a shamefaced fool, I cannot speak: in sooth my heart is no bigger than a pin's head. Before I saw her, I was as courageous as Hercules; and now my heart's sunk into my belly. A Mouse when the Trap falls is not in such a taking: yet methinks I might speak as many words as Friar Bacon's Head: Ma-ma-Madam.  Coel. 
Oh fie! abomination! what, do I see the plumes and wings of Gogmagog? Oh the tempter in the shape of an old man, clothed in the vanities of youth! I do defy thee, Satan, I do defy thee; that is, I bid defiance unto thee.  Blunt. 
Lord, what a Monster she makes me!  Coel. 
By yea and nay, the mark, the brand and flower  
Of Antichrist are in his idolatrous looks; therefore  
Will I fly, or, as we say, avoid; that is, eat the Serpent.  Exit. Virg. 
Fellow her, Matrona, and work her still:  
If one means fail, another strait essay:  
We too, the while, will seek some Doctor out:  
And now I think on't, Gambugium is  
For cure of madness very eminent:  
Come, let's to him; we by experience find  
'Tis hard to cure a diseased mind.  Exeunt.   

ACTUS Tertius.  

Scoena Prima.  Enter Gambugium shaved and powdered, in equipage of a young Gallant; Clysterpipe at a corner of the Stage. Gam. 
ALthough my Wives new strict behaviour please  
Me very well, my thoughts are not at rest:  
Though I have reason to be confident,  
Yet not to trust, is not to be deceived:  
No proofs more certain than what's ocular.  
My Man may be corrupt, and negligent;  
My Wife prove cunning; many women are  
But well dissemblers of their wantonness.  
Now in this Garb I shall discover all;  
For I am far from knowledge: if I find  
Her honest, resisting the several temptations  
I have brought, as Gold, Jewels,  
Sweetmeats, and sweet and richer promises;  
Suspicion never more enters my breast:  
But should I find her other, my just revenge  
Upon her blood should satisfy her crime.  
The thought disturbs me; I must think a while.  Glist. 
So, there's a Gallant, and he makes this way; perhaps  
He wants a little Sassafras, or Chinaroot; he crinkles  
In the hams, as if the Frenchman had unknit his joints,  
Or calcinated all his bones in the flames of Venery.  Gamb. 
Sirrah, is your Mistress within?  Glist. 
What if she be, Sir?  Gamb. 
Why my cautious knave that keeps the door, inform her that a Gentleman, one Mr. Winal, craves the honour to kiss her hands, and vow himself her servant.  Glis. 
Sir, I shall do your errand presently; but I have a small Item or two to write here.  Gam. 
The Knave's exceeding punctual: a faithful servant and a virtuous wife are treasures. I pray dispatch, Sir.  Glis. 
I go immediately.— So, you're down; but, my spruce Baboon, you are too like my Master to please my Mistress.  Exit. Gam. 
If I can quit my phrases now of art,  
And larding my discourse with Latin, I  
Am made: for out of a most exquisite  
Romance, I have stole language; if I can  
But sort it to my purpose, that will do  
The feat: see, they come before I'm perfect  
In my compliment.  Enter Clittomestra, Acuta. Clit. 
Looks he so like a Jackanapes new shaved?  Glis. 
As ere you saw, Madam; see where he stands, a glittering outside, a composition of youth and age beat by time in a Mortar together; or rather he is time's Hermaphrodite: for look you, one eye is grey, the other black, male and female; one cheek like unto Luna, white; the other yellow, Phoebus' bright: one leg full stuffed, the other thin, as if they neither were a kin.  Acut. 
You're very full of your wit, and Poetry: but prithee keep it, till I have leisure to hear it.  Glist. 
Well, I'll down with you in my black book for this.  Acut. 
Now summon all your wits: this is some trick. I see thorough the disguise.  Clit. 
Do you think we'll by't at all baits, Daughter?  Acut. 
Avoid this mainly; do you observe the wart upon his eyebrow?  Clit. 
It cannot be your Father; and yet there's some resemblance.  Acut. 
Peace, he turns, and advances towards us, as gingerly as a piece of Clockwork new wound up; the wheels of the motion want oiling.  Gamb. 
Fairest of Ladies, grace the lips of a stranger with the odoriferous balsam of a kiss.  Glist. 
An excellent Apothecary's compliment! I'll prick that down.  Acut. 
Have you any more to say, Sir?  Clitt. 
Let it alone; an hour hence the Brazenhead will utter another sentence.  Acut. 
Peace, Mother, the mouth opens.  Gam. 
How they abuse me! but these abuses are  
My solace. Ladies, I take your silence for  
A consent, and make use of the sweet  
Unguent of your lips.  Clit. 
Take that for your bold rudeness: next  Strikes him. 
Time you visit Ladies, learn your distance,  
Or go into the suburbs; there's carrion for  
Such crows.  Gam. 
Oh my teeth! yet had I rather have  
The dolour there, then on my brow. This  
Young beauty, I hope, will prove more  
Merciful.  Acut. 
Time's past, Sir— had you made to me your  
First addresses, you might perhaps have gained  
The favour of my hand, and that had been  
An honour.  Gam. 
Excellent chaste both: but words are air.  
I'll try whether their virtue be gold-proofe:  
Madam, I know lovers must receive many  
Repulses when they lay siege, especially to so  
Fortified a Castle.  Acut. 
Have a care of the next battery: for if the  
Cannons of our tongues begin to play, we shall  
So shatter your decayed forces!  Gam. 
Peace, good nimble wit: Pox, she hath put  
Me out of my very undermining speech.  
But gold is the best Orator.— Lady, all this,  
And more, is at your service.  Clit. 
Oh Sir, you are troubled with a pleurisy of  
Gold: I wish my Husband here, to let you  
Blood for't.  Gam. 
You understand me not; I'll be Plainer: I love  
You, Lady; and so love you, I'd willingly part  
With my whole estate for to enjoy you but  
One night: Is it not pity that jealous fool  
Gambuginm, who hath no sense of the  
Happiness he enjoys, nor in himself the least  
Worth to deserve you, should slubber so much  
Sweetness, deprive you of your lawful  
Liberty, and rob you of the pleasures due  
Unto a Marriagebed?  Clit. 
Pray stay, Sir; if I should prove so great  
A fool, as to forsake an old stinking Husband  
For a rotten friend, how can I be sure you  
Can supply the wants you tax in him?  Acut. 
Your only way (Mother) is to have him searched.  Gamb. 
Well said, spirit, you'll deal upon sure ground.  
But, Madam, I hope my presence promises more  
Ability, then to permit you to question my  
Performance.  Clitto. 
Sir, blame me not; the experience I have had  
In larger promisers, nay, persons that look  
More like performers, gives me just cause of doubt.  Gam. 
Happy disguise, thou wilt discover all!  
Then you have traded, Madam.  Clit. 
That question, as a stranger, savours of impudence,  
And deserves my frown: but when I look upon  
You as a Lover, I term it Jealousy.  Gamb. 
You're all courtesy: it is decreed: my head! my  
Budding head! I am a Cuckold certain. But  
I will urge her to the utmost proof.— Madam,  
To give you a larger evidence of my affection,  
I am content to be searched, though my modesty  
Would desire one of my sex might have this office.  Clit. 
Most willingly. Daughter, call Clysterpipe.  Gam. 
Oh torment! there is no room for doubt: a whore for certain.  Clit. 
Do you pause upon't?  Gam. 
My love allows me not so much reason: let  
Your request be what it may, if within  
My power, and 'tis granted.  Clit. 
How shall I love that man, that dares make  
Good his promise!  Gam. 
Dare! what Hercules e'er durst, conceive of me.  Acut. 
Madam, Clysterpipe waits your pleasure.  Clit. 
'Tis well: Sirrah, hark hither.— And when  
You have found him a man at all points,  
With this knife cut off his virulent faculties.  Gam. 
How! how! make me an Eunuch?  Clit. 
Only no man: when I married, Sir, I vowed to  
Heaven, no man except my Husband should  
Enjoy me: you see what pains I take, for you  
To lie with me, without infringement of a  
Former vow.  Gam. 
Excellently honest! joy makes me weep; Dear  
Wife, pardon me.  Clit. 
What, my loving Husband turned Gallant?  Acut. 
My Father Courtier?—  Gam. 
Only to try thee; and I have found thee  
Excellent: nay, if thou'lt let none but  
Guelt persons lie with thee, I'll never fear  
Cuckolding.—  Clitt. 
I wish that all the actions of my life  
Can but convince you of my honesty.  Gam. 
I am, I am, dear wife, I am, and now with  
Unknown Nations I dare trust thee.  
Come, weep no more, but let us in and dine,  
And drown all jealous thoughts with Florence-wine.   

Scoena Secunda.  Rant. Ticket, Clysterpipe. Rant. 
NO news from the Doctor's Wife?  Ticket. 
Not a word, nor do I value it; 'tis a Spanish  
Three pence to a Scotish two pence, I ne'er more see her.  Rant. 
Yet when thou took'st thy leave, thou seem'st  
To be in love deeply with both.  Ticket. 
True, I can court myself into an affection  
At pleasure; and in their absence, out of a  
Compliment forget it.  Rant. 
Partly of my humour, as to the forgetful  
Part; for 'tis not within my memory, that  
I was ever guilty of speaking what I meant to  
A woman.  Ticket. 
In that I am contrary: for whilst I court  
An exquisite beauty, I am so transported, and  
Heightened in my fancy, that for that moment  
I intent, and really, what I then utter.  Rant. 
A certain humouring of your speech; as I have seen a Tragedian really weep, in acting a feigned story, when off the Stage he appeared as jovial as a drunken Tinker: so thou, no Sooner parted from thy Mistress, but art as free from the least touch of love, as Eunuch's of fourscore from lust.  Tick. 
Nay, love will be the death of neither, that's  
Certain: for if thou hast the faculty never to  
Be in love, I have the grace to forget I ever was.  Rant. 
They are good properties, let's preserve them: thou art I hope convinced, tho', that there be some handsome Ladies.  Tick. 
Demonstration is a clear proof, Sir: but hang them,  
They're so phlegmatic, they will not do. Ah, in  
Fiorenza la bella, Roma la santa, a Lady of their  
Beauty would have pressed half a dozen courtesies  
Upon a man, whilst we are saying Grace.  Rant. 
Or rather, permitted a man to have pressed as many, upon them: but dost take Ladies for Oysters, to fall upon them without ceremony? ha'!  Tick. 
In Italy we have not time. Upon my conscience,  
Tedious hollow-hearted courtship, and long  
Hypocritical Graces, came up together.  Rant. 
Faith like enough: but when came your Italian locks?  Tick. 
Fie, a mere abuse; they have none but nature's  
Padlocks.  
Believe it, Gunpowder new dried is not more  
Disposed to take fire, than a Venetian Dame to  
Cuckold her Husband.  Rant. 
London hath as well-disposed freehearted girls, that love the sport, and will pay as much for their Husband's dubbing, as a Knighthood would cost at Court.  Tick. 
This heightens me: but come they to it readily?  Rant. 
How dost mean?  Tick. 
Without much circumstance, as thus: Lady, I love you; Sir, you honour me: Madam, I'd lie with you,; You're of years of discretion, pray use your pleasure.  Rant. 
Not altogether, till you're well acquainted.  Ticket. 
That's somewhat yet: there's relish in it: but faith what other beauties art acquainted with? I have been a stranger to this Climate long; 'tis friendly to impart.  Rant. 
You find me no niggard of my delicacies; there is another beauty within my knowledge, no ways inferior to those you have seen.  Tick. 
Let's thither straight.  Rant. 
Your patience, pray hear me out: she is so  
Chargeable, I dare not look on her past once  
A quarter, and that at the large  
Expense of a twenty pound banquet; kiss  
Her every six months, the price whereof is fifty  
Pounds: marry when I shall be rich enough  
To purchase her Maidenhead, unless twenty  
Of us go sharers,  
Is a question as irresolvable as the coming  
Of doomsday.  Ticket. 
What an Atheist wert thou to conceal this from thy friend; the very miracle of the Land; the only thing, if true, worth observation? in all my travels,  
Though I have seen hundreds of women, heard of more,  
Yet could I never find so politic a Whore.  Enter Clysterpipe with a Letter. Rant. 
That word will excommunicate you.  Tick. 
You shall instruct me by the way— see, yonder's  
The fellow we could not wake: sure he dreams yet.  Glist. 
Out of one office, and into another: but this  
Is my little Mistress' office, who I love superlatively  
Well, and she comparatively loves me: But mum,  
Here's the Gentleman; I will perform her commands,  
And merit her— Sir, though I am no common  
Porter, yet for my Mistress sake, I am become  
The particular bearer of her favours.  Ticket. 
To me, Sir?  Glist. 
The Letter to you, Sir, her favour's to myself.  Ticket. 
Present my service; say I most humbly kiss her hands, and that suddenly I'll return her an answer.  Glist. 
Rest you merry, Gentlemen.  Exit. Ran. 
Pox, what makes thee frown so?  Tick. 
Madness, to be deceived: the devil's not  
So great an hypocrite as women are:  
I thought I had her sure, sure as this glove  
Upon my hand; she promised to appoint  
The time, and place; but see, the Devil of  
Her courtesy was grounded on the hopes  
Of my affection unto her Daughter;  
To the obtaining of whose dearest love,  
She promises assistance, that she'll use  
Her Motherly influence and authority:  
Bids me withal, not flatter my belief  
That she intended any thing of love  
As to herself, but only to instruct  
Me in the good opinion she held of me  
For a Son-in-law.—  Rant. 
Is that all?  Tick. 
No, here she puts in Postscript, that I may  
Continue to the  intent.  
My addresses to her, with this proviso,  
That I her answer should receive, as from  
Her Daughter, as she would my discourse  
Directed to her.  Rant. 
Why these riddles are harder to be interpreted then an Oracle: but why should it trouble thee, who carest not for her?  Tick. 
Pox, who hates a handsome woman? I love the sport, though as to the person it is indifferent.  Rant. 
If so, 'tis but making digression from the Mother to the Daughter: for the sport sake we'll not lose the acquaintance.  Tick. 
I intent nothing less: but why court her for her Daughter, I understand not.  Rant. 
Possibly she doubts her Daughter's peevishness may spoil her fortune; or they may be agreed between themselves.  Tick. 
I'll not dispute, but follow her directions; she may have a further design in it, for my good.  Rant. 
Faith like enough: some women by their tricks,  
Merit the Title of Love's Politics.  Exeunt.  

Scoena Tertia.  Philostratus habited like a Precisian. Phil. 
JOve mist of this, amongst the various shapes  
He did assume, to court his Mistresses:  
Though it be not amorous, I hope 'twill prove  
As fortunate to my designs, as I obedient  
To my love's command;  
Which worked on me this metamorphosis:  
No love's so true, but needeth some deceit;  
For love is ne'er without hypocrisy,  
Or in itself, or in the means by which  
We bring it about to its prefixed end.  
But till this present, I am confident,  
A garment so deceitful, could not shroud  
Under its covering so true a heart.  Enter Celia Matrona. 
See where my love appears, just like day's star  
New broken from the East; nor can that hell-  
Contrived disgrace so great a beauty hid.  
Sister Rachel, you show your pure zeal;  
Verily you are praiseworthy, in thirsting  
And hungering as it were after the edifying  
Instructions of the elder.  Coel. 
It doth behoove me verily, to regain the time that I have lost in youthful vanity.  Phil. 
Your resolution is religious, and of the spirit;  
But you are also worthy of reproof, nay verily  
Of condemnation, for thus accompanying your  
Self with lewdness, and antiquity.  Coel. 
Brother, your reproofs are seasonable, and I do receive them with the spirit of humbleness and meekness: but who can avoid the temptations, and lewd deceits of the Tempter?  Phil. 
You ought to fly them, verily you ought, and  
Take down the rankness of thy flesh by  
Discipline, thus.  He beats Matrona. Matr. 
Oh pray Sir: oh my bones!  Phil. 
Avoid me then; that is, eat me: for thou art the very spirit of beastliness, and beam of iniquity, that keepeth the light of the spirit from me.  Matr. 
Oh, oh! I'm gone: oh, I vanish.  Exit. Phil. 
View not this outward ornament of shame;  
But look into my heart, that's not disguised;  
There shall my Celia see the seal of love  
So deeply imprinted on my very soul,  
That time nor absence, the two moths of love,  
Can ne'er disfigure, much less eat it out.  Coel. 
How you renew my joys, by confirming  
What was sufficiently confirmed before,  
Your constancy of love, which I can never  
Doubt and live! for in thy love consisteth  
All my life.  Phil. 
And in thy life, consisteth all my love:  
For without thee, love and life are burdens.  
'Tis possible I shall die, and thousand  
Accidents may cross our love; but that  
I shall leave loving thee, so impossible,  
I should not credit it from your lips,  
Which I believe the Oracles of truth.  Coel. 
Enough, I do believe thee: 'tis easy  
To persuade me to a faith that I  
Would die in.—  Phil. 
Fair soul, it is a true one:  
I'll breathed upon your lips, and thence receive  
The happy seal of Confirmation.  kiss. Coel. 
Then I must seal to you the counterpart,  
And register them both within my heart.  Phil. 
What Paradise of pleasures do I taste!  
I feel my soul evaporate at my lips;  
My heart exalted in the sphere of love,  
Shuns any meaner object than thy eyes,  
Those two celestial lamps, beyond the which  
There is no other light, nor Paradise  
Beyond thy face.  Coel. 
How fancy doth delude  
The sense! The heaven's neither in thy face  
Nor mine, though they appear the sensual  
Objects of our love; But in our souls there's  
Strict conjunction (dearest Philostratus)  
The unity of hearts; there's the heaven,  
The abstract of all joy, our Paradise.  Phil. 
I know not where it is, nor have I time  
To spend i'the search; surely it were needless,  
When every part about you is divine.  
If I but taste thy lips, I thence do drink  
Nectar more choice than Ganymede ere filled:  
If I but touch thy hand, thereon doth dwell  
A softness so divine, the finest down  
Of Swans is harsh and foul to: If I gaze  
Upon those heavenly eyes, I am worse dazzled  
With the resplendent brightness of their light  
Then bastard Eagles gazing 'gainst the Sun.—  
What e'er I see, touch, taste, or smell, is all  
A divine lasting Monument of bliss.  Coel. 
And all, unworthy of my Philostratus.  Phil. 
Oh, I could dwell upon those words for ever!  
Those sweet harmonious accents have power  
To rob me of my very essence; yet  
In your love leave me an ample being.  
My joys are now at full.—  Coel. 
And therefore must decrease; for we must part.  Phil. 
Part, my dear Celia! death never had  
So harsh a sound; nor ever made so great  
A separation.  Coel. 
Be not so passionate, but be ruled by me,  
And I'll invent a way we oft may meet.  Phil. 
You speak all happiness.  Coel. 
Tomorrow at St. Antlin I shall expect  
To see you: now, farewell. Nay, no reply.  Phil. 
I do obey, though with a heavy heart.  
Adieu, my dearest life.  Coel. 
And I, like Dido from her Turret's top,  
View his departure:  
So vanished Aeneas from her sight;  
The winds blew him, and all her moans away;  
The storm of fortune would not let mine stay.  Exit.  

Scoena Quarta.  Enter Virginio, Blunt, Gambugium meeting them. Virg. 
SAve you, Signior Gambugium.  Gam. 
Good day, Sir; excuse me, I am in haste.  Virg. 
I can admit of no excuses: excuse me no excusing; my Daughter is mad, and lunatic, my only Daughter.  Blunt. 
And my only Mistress, forsooth, Sir,  Gam. 
If she be, if she be, gentlemen, I cannot  
Help it; they are not the only mad women  
In the City, be that your comfort.  Virg. 
I assure you it is no comfort, nor I receive no comfort in it, nor no comfort in your words, do you see?  Gam. 
Why, good neighbour, what makes you so hot?  Virg. 
Have I not reason, Sir, to have a Daughter  
Whimsied with scruples and Fanatic frenzies,  
And after I have lost my breath and legs  
In seeking you out, Master Doctor, to be put off with  
A flim-flam? truly I take it extremely ill.  Blunt. 
And how do you think, forsooth, I can take it well, when my Mistress is so ill?  Gam. 
Your Daughter mad, Mr. Justice, this Gentleman's Mistress, and my patient at Court dying; three places at a time? hurry here, and hurry there: can I perform all at once? have I more than one pair of legs? answer me that, answer me that.  Virg. 
Good Mr. Doctor, his Mistress and my Daughter are but one person: me thinks Neighbourhood should be preferred, besides my place of authority: my poor Celia is lost, mad, undone; think upon that, good Mr. Doctor, and dispense with your Court-business: it may lie in my way to serve you.  Blunt. 
Indeed-la forsooth, Domine Doctor, I  
May do you a good turn likewise. Father  
Forsooth that must be, a double fee will bring it.  Virg. 
You say right, Mr. Blunt, money will bring any man: here Sir, a fee in hand, another when you see my Daughter, and half my estate to cure her.  Gam. 
These are good Aurators: but it is your friendship  
I value; you have won upon me.  Enter a Messenger running. Mess. 
Mr. Doctor, Mr. Doctor, what do you mean? my Lord's a dying unless you come immediately: you were sent for two hours ago.  Gam. 
Have patience, I'll but look upon Mr. Justice his Daughter, and go with you.  Enter a second Messenger running. 2 Mess. 
Why Jeremy, you rogue, no further yet? my Lord's a departing, and my Ladies distracted, and she swears that she would not for a thousand pound but my Lord should go out of the world skilfully, and die under a Doctor.  1 Mess. 
But the Doctor won't come till he hath viewed a Patient hard by: there he stands; if you will persuade him, you may.  2 Mess. 
'S death, stand disputing in a desperate occasion? lends a hand.  Gam. 
Help, help! murder, rape, murder!  2 Mess. 
No, it is you would murder by delays.  Virg. 
Gentlemen, why Gentlemen! I command you in the King's name, what do you mean, a riot?  Carry him off the Stage. Blunt. 
They mean, it should seem forsooth, to carry him bodily away.  Virg. 
Ha', carry him? hath grief made me so tame a fool as to let Rogues run away with him?  Blunt. 
I-feaking, forsooth, they were cowards by his running.  Virg. 
I must home, and see how affairs go: persuasions in the end may work upon her; In the mean time, good Sir, inform yourself of some skilful Artist that is acquainted with these Lunacies.  Blunt. 
If London afford one, forsooth, nor penny nor pains will I spare. I am downright honest, and Blunt to an inch.  Virg. 
I trust to you; pray let us see you often.  Blunt. 
I shall make bold to trouble you, forsooth, as they say.  Virg. 
You know you are welcome, Sir; be vigilant and careful, if you love her, it concerns you.  Blunt. 
Fear not, forsooth: Sir, I will be as watchful as an Owl by Moonlight.   

Scoena Quinta.  Clittomestra, Acuta. Clit. 
I Wonder I have no answer; art sure my letter was delivered?  Acut. 
Am I sure I live?  Clit. 
Then me thinks an answer.  Acut. 
So I think too, and should myself expect it  
From any man that doth pretend to love:  
But he's a mere Court-butterfly, that buzzes  
And flies about each warm beam of beauty  
He encounters.  Clit. 
He courted me with such a vehemency of ardour, as if his heart were love's furnace.  Acut. 
The like he did to me, to the same height  
As if he had been to Court an Empress:  
But 'tis a custom now, a common one,  
For every gallant to be thus in love;  
To court each female they encounter with,  
Pretending love to all, truly to none:  
A kind of breeding, mother, newly landed,  
To exercise men's wits, and try women's  
Credulity.—  Clit. 
But canst thou think it possible (Acuta)  
That Ticket should dissemble? I have known  
Many, whose words held no Intelligence  
With their heart, but never any yet  
Can change their countenance unto their speech;  
Expressing such an ardour in his eyes,  
As if they were loves torches; and such a  
Sensibility of feeling in his words,  
As if his heart were pierced, or rather changed  
With love into one substance.  Acut. 
Pish, this is nothing, Mother; for there are  
Far greater Artists in this newfound love  
Now most in fashion and most A la mode:  
Ticket's but yet a Novice.  Clit. 
It is so incredible, I can't believe't;  
I thought myself a Mistress in this art,  
But were this true, we must no more compare  
With men for dissimulation—  Acut. 
It were too great a madness: for they are  
As far, in that, beyond us, as in strength:  
By them, 'tis thought a virtue to deceive,  
Especially our Sex; they glory in't,  
As in plurality of Mistresses,  
A score, or so, from which, to ease their lust,  
They this day select one, next another,  
So for half a dozen; the rest are fed  
With airy compliments, and such flyblown  
Oaths and protestations as have been  
Thrice pawned for , and twice forfeited.  
Oh Mother, did you know but man's deceit,  
You would not wonder why the Ancients  
Pictured Faith and Truth like women.  Clit. 
That's the least: but how you should reach  
These mysteries, exacts my admiration;  
One that I still bred underneath my wing,  
That hardly e'er conversed with Gentleman  
Beyond Clysterpipe, or the Deputy  
Of the Ward, at a Hall-feast.  Acut. 
Alas, good Mother, you do many things  
My Father little dreams of; are not you  
As liable to be deceived by me?  
You know not how learned your Acuta's grown,  
Deep read in the hearts of men.  Clit. 
I'll be thy Disciple; come, read me a lesson.  Acut. 
I will; hear then, and edify, Mother.  
There be five sorts of lovers; only two  
That can be trusted; the rest listened to,  
But not believed: first, the inconstant lover;  
He for a time doth love entirely,  
Until a fairer object he doth meet  
More pleasing to his eye: this man we style  
A lover upon sight; for unto each  
New face, he sacrifices his false heart.  
Next, your vainglorious boasting lover;  
He is dangerous: for when he cannot  
Lie with your person, he'll be sure to do it  
With your reputation, and  
Multiply the smallest atoms of your  
Favours to mountains, by the glass of his  
Discourse. The third, a Platonic lover,  
One that pretends a spiritual mixtion,  
To facilitate the incorporating of sense:  
He's a kind of Satan in a white robe,  
That with a commandation of your soul,  
Extracts the quintessence of your body.  
The fourth is a simple jealous lover;  
Him you may work unto what form you please:  
His superfluity of love, makes him  
Jealous; and his simplicity will not  
Let him know of whom: He's constant, and  
As obedient as you'd wish a man;  
Created for such women as would wear  
The breeches. The fifth's the constant lover;  
But of them there are so few, and fewer  
That can character them unto their worth,  
That I may well spare mine.  Clit. 
But Daughter, where's your lover A la mode?  Acut. 
He's not a perfect species, a mothy mongrel kind, composed of the inconstant and Platonic; I treated of him before.  Clit. 
Thou didst, and learnedly; prithee who's thy instructress?  Acut. 
A Lady here hand by, that hath the art  
To deal with all these several kinds of lovers  
In their own humour.  Clit. 
I long for her acquaintance: let's thither.  Acut. 
You won't repent the voyage.  Clit. 
I'll but fetch my hoods.  Exit. Acut. 
So, I have almost put her off the sent  
Of that musked Gallants presumed love; could I  
But keep them at a distance now, or my  
Self near them when they shall discourse;  
It will confirm my Mother woos for me,  
And hinder Ticket from discovery.  Exit.   

ACTUS Quartus.  

Scoena Prima.  Rant, Ticket, Austutia meeting them. Rant. 
THis is the house, dear Ticket; and see where comes its ornament and choicest furniture.  Ticket. 
A heavenly composed beauty: Prithee present me to her.  Rant. 
All in good time; she moves towards us. Lady, presuming upon the greatness of your mercy, I take the boldness to present this friend of mine to your acquaintance, a Gentleman and Traveller.  Ast. 
Two good qualities: but I want ne'er a Groom,  
Though you want much civility, to intrude into  
My house upon so small acquaintance.  Tick. 
We have used too much respect, and I believe  
More ceremony, than your common trade  
Hath been acquainted with: for otherwise  
You'd better understand how to return  
Civilities.  Ast. 
You're a pretty Gentleman, your friend says,  
And a Traveller; you had done well to have  
Brought home more manners, and less impudence.  Rant. 
Madam, we came to love, honour, and serve you.  Tick. 
Prithee forbear; fawn not upon her, like  
A Spaniel newly beaten: learn of me,  
I'll show thee strait the way to handle such  
Peevish dissimulation, that bears  
A fine appearing gloss of sanctity;  
But fret and try it thus, it falls to pieces.  Ast. 
Keep off, rude Companion.  Tick. 
So, this small parcel of hypocrisy  
Whilst you stand at distance, shaking and  
Quivering like an Anabaptist dipped  
In January, appears chaste and virtuous:  
But tumble her and touse her thus!  Ast. 
Out, shameless impudence!  Tick. 
You'll quickly find the brittle stuff she's made  
on.  Ast. 
Sir, If you won't be civil, I shall call those shall make you so: do you take this for a common receptacle?  Tick. 
The commonest thing in London, except  
The Owner. Come, faith, be not so nice; to me  
'Tis needless; I am verest in the world, know  
What belongs to it: no young heir, Lady,  
To be caught with the bait of seeming modesty  
In the noose of wedlock; to me you may  
Appear a woman without danger. Come,  
Keep your niceness for some homebred Gallant,  
Deny him the favour of your hand, whilst  
Knowing men thus reap the Nectar of  
Your lips, and crop the harvest of your choicest  
Pleasures.  Rant. 
See, in four minutes he's arrived at more  
Than four years could purchase me; he has the  
Trick on't; for when she frowned, as if the anger  
Of all her sex were contracted in her brows,  
He charged her boldly, and upon the first  
Assault he won her to more favour, then  
All my large expense of time and treasure could  
Purchase me. I never was so moved before:  
Oh my heart! I thought thou hadst been of a  
Tougher mould: love ne'er could work upon  
Thee, and shall jealousy make thee her triumph?  
No, heart, thou shalt break first. But I'll withdraw:  
Half an hour's consideration is to me so catholical  
An antidote against the poison of love, as the  
Whole College can't prescribe a better.  Exit. Tick. 
Madam, You ever oblige me yours; and now  
I know the reason of your strict behaviour, do  
Approve it, nor shall you ever find me negligent,  
In what may least concern your present service,  
Or future fortunes.—  Ast. 
Your promises are noble, like yourself;  
And they no sooner shall be put in act,  
Then I be ready to serve you, in such  
Manner, as modesty will not allow  
Me dress in words.—  Tick. 
Madam, I'll take your meaning for your words:  
Both are so plain, I cannot miss the sense:  
Nor you a Husband long, if I have wit,  
Or the least art to compass your designs.  Ast. 
I dare not question either, yet it will  
Require much of both,  we can bring  
Him to a sense of love, much more to think  
Of that same Gobbling (as he termeth it)  
Matrimony.—  Tick. 
Leave that to me, though I think Monsieur Rant  
A beaten soldier in the war of love:  
One, that hath as little faith in women,  
As in Atheists; a deep-read scholar in  
The deceits and subtleties of the sex:  
Yet all these considerations can't  
Make me doubt or fear the enterprise;  
Which cannot in difficulty equal  
My desire to serve you, or will to oblige you.  
But I waste time in words, whilst I should put  
In actions my designs: let's first contrive  
How we may bring our stratagem about:  
He must be taken in the humour, Lady,  
That I know; and his are commonly so  
Short lived, they'll hardly last  
The Ceremony out.  Ast. 
Then it must be his drunken humour; that will  
Last till he be sober.  Tick. 
Well remembered: for his loving humour always  
Attends it; and two humours being of the plural  
Number, will easier admit of the plurality of yours.  
But how shall we bring him to this rare pass?  
For he's very temperate.  Ast. 
Bring him you hither, then let me alone; we'll  
Drink healths to all the obliging Ladies in Town.  
I have good brains; his breeding will oblige him to  
Pledge me. I must still help you out.  Tick. 
Most have need of helping in, Lady; but let that  
Pass: expect within this half hour your Gallant,  
And then with your assistance, (for without you  
I am nothing) I do not doubt to get you a  
Covering for your venial trespasses.  Ast. 
However, you'll oblige me; I judge not services by  
The event. The news?  Enter a Servant. Ser. 
Mistress Acuta with another Lady are come to wait upon you.—  Ast. 
I attend them presently.  Tick. 
'Tis time I were about your enterprise: your servant, Madam.  Ast. 
Your servant, Monsieur Ticket.— Oh these men,  
How many ways they strive to compass their  
Base wills! sometimes they flatter us: with those  
I can deal pretty well: for I believe  
As seldom what they say, as they do speak  
The true and sincere meaning of their heart:  
Others do seek with Jewels, and rich gifts,  
For to corrupt our chastity; and buy  
With dross a Jewel beyond price; yet these  
My poverty would seek, did not virtue  
Supply my mean defect: yet I am forced  
To play the hypocrite, tho' the wrong way;  
Appearing far less virtuous than I am,  
Remaining virtuous amidst incontinence.  
For such a price I set upon the thing  
Most men do aim at, as hath frighted hence  
All vulgar chapmen; others with scorns and niceness  
I have daunted so, they dare not urge  
A word of love beyond Matrimony.  
Thus becoming Mistress of their hearts, their purse  
Is still at my command; yet this contents  
Not me; though I be honest, I am thought  
A whore: besides, they may grow insolent,  
Witness my own brother, though his travel  
Hath blotted from his memory my face,  
His natural wildeness can admit no change;  
For had I not complied with his lose thoughts,  
The losest strangers had seemed Saints to him:  
But I'll find time to let him know his fault,  
Which with much willingness I could forgive,  
If he effect my wish in Rants chaste love.  
I would be gladly Married, 'tis most true,  
She's hard put to't, that doth begin to woe.  Exit.  

Scoena Secunda.  Celia, Matrona, Philostratus. Matr. 
SWeet Mistress, do not prosecute the frenzies.  Coel. 
Why dost disturb the spirit, wicked tempter? but tribulations must be borne with patience and meekness.  Matr. 
I had rather bear a handsome young man, as old as I am; there's the best tribulation in Christendom.  Coel. 
Dost think we are not strayed in the way that leads to the Meetinghouse?  Matr. 
What, to S. Antlin?  Coel. 
Antlin, thou reprobate! the word Saint is superstitious, and idolatrous; verily I do abominate thy company,  
for thou art possessed with the spirit of profaneness, yea, the very spirit of superstition.  Matr. 
Poor woman! how she's altered, rather besotted to this Lunacy! could I but take her a little off the spirit, and  
give her a smack of the flesh, there were some hopes. See how she turns up the eggs of her eyes, like the figure of  
Abram in Sand's show!  Enter Philostratus. Phil. 
Save you, Sister; I profess I am glad, and rejoice in sincerity, that the spirit hath moved you thus early to the  
convention of the godly.  Matr. 
Mercy on me! he come? now am I more timorous and fearful than a Hare that the Hounds had newly caught by the  
buttocks.  Phil. 
But Sister, oh that I should see this, that I should see you accompanied with the wicked thus! oh! that I should see  
you accompanied with the reprobate, with the very Publican: by yea and nay it is not well.  Matr. 
How I tremble! he looks as if his zeal would transpierce me: there's never a truer Quaker in Wapping, than I at this present.  Coel. 
Verily, brother, the Serpent will pursue me in the shape of vanity, tho' I look upon her with the eyes of  
Reformation.  Phil. 
My zeal doth foam, yea and boil against her: I do abominate antiquity, she looks like the very clay of the beast;  
I profess, like a very tradition.  Mat. 
Now am I in a worse taking, than a Bailie in an Inns of Court.  Coel. 
Good brother, pacify thyself.  Phil. 
My zeal's too strong; yea, I am transported with indignation against that Monastickhood; and thus do I tread the I  
doll under my feet.  Matr. 
Oh! good Sir, my hood, my hood!  Phil. 
Dost thou speak in defence of abomination? assist me zeal to chastise her vanity.  He beats Her off. Coel. 
Never were Lovers put to such hard shifts  
To gain a moment for entertainment  
Of their lawful loves.  Phil. 
Never, my Celia: but yet the pleasure  
I enjoy by looking on that face,  
The harmonious Music of thy voice, joined  
With the melody of agreeing hearts,  
So far exceed in bliss the pain sustained,  
That like a Mother having born a son,  
I strait forget, when I enjoy thee (sweet)  
Th' anguish and affliction of thy absence.  Coel. 
And I, in absence nourish still a hope  
Of seeing thee, and present fear to lose thee.  
My love's so strictly wedded to my grief,  
They know no separation: if that  
At any time they relish joy, hope is  
The parent to that happy child, which I  
Can never foster in my breast, till it become  
Your Pillow.  Phil. 
Oh that happy day (Celia) that day  
Of happiness, when will it come? is fate  
So rigid to deny the knowledge? or Gods  
Become so merciless, to divide two hearts  
So much united? or is it their fear  
Love should become on earth such an example  
As heaven could not parallel?  Coel. 
Dear Sir, reclaim your passions; our time  
Is short, not to be lost in compliment.  Phil. 
Can time be lost, that is so well employed?  
And in thy sweet society is mine.  Coel. 
Nor do I think it so; I could dwell here  
An age to hear thee speak: but fate denies  
That happiness as yet; therefore 'twere fit  
Love found out some invention, by which  
We might more frequently enjoy each others  
Company, till time complete our happiness.  Phil. 
Your admonition's timely: I was lost  
In fair affection's maze; so transported  
With my present happiness, that I thought  
It might be lasting to eternity.—  
But wakened from this dream, I do perceive  
The houre-glass of my happiness run out:  
And how this base disguise can recruit it,  
To me appears a riddle.  Coel. 
'Tis thus far useful; for it disguises  
Both our loves, and keeps my father from  
Wedding me to Blunt, a man I hate, more  
Than the worst disease the worst of women  
Ever merited.  Phil. 
But we might choose some other: what thinks my love of seigning herself sick, and having me sent for as your  
Physician?  Coel. 
The cure would be too sudden, and my joy discover all.  Phil. 
With ease you might dissemble both.—  Coel. 
'Twere easier far, to force a feigned joy,  
Then stifle such a real one: howe'er,  
I'll try my utmost art.  Phil. 
Do so, my Celia, for I Prophetize,  
That this device may meet with good success.  Coel. 
Heavens grant it: you know I need not  
Feign myself sick, distempered, ill at ease;  
Thy absence still to me is a disease.  Phil. 
Which with my presence I'll oft mitigate,  
And from thy lips drink a preserving Balm,  
That in thy absence like an Antidote,  
Shall keep me from th' infection of despair.  Coel. 
I think my love's already a Physician;  
For he is perfect in their Dialect.  
With earnest long, I'll expect to hear  
The issue of your project: done't abuse  
My expectation with too long delays.  Phil. 
Life of my soul! assure yourself I will not.  Coel. 
 played too long the Truant, 'tis time  
You were about it.—  Phil. 
I cannot leave you to go home alone:  
Nor dare I wait upon you: part of the way  
I will accompany you, until we meet  
Matrona; and then—  Coel. 
Then we must part; I understand thy look:  
Sighs are sentences in love's Table-book.  Exeunt.  

Scoena Tertia.  Matrona, Celia, Philostratus. Matr. 
WHat, are they gone, or retired only  
Into a Coupling house! These Familists  
Are the hypocritical'st Lechers in  
A Kingdom; their motives of the spirit  
Always end in the flesh. Perhaps he hath  
Taken her in to catechise; but should  
His zealous doctrine begin with an increase  
And multiply, twenty to one but he'll  
See the fruit on't within nine months, or so.  
Well, if these precise meeting-houses be  
Not the staples of Lechery, and the  
Herald's office of Cuckoldry; there is not  
A grain of lust in the composition  
Of a woman of my years. 'Tis so; I begin  
To smell a notorious Lecher under  
That lenten cause: I would not be a Bawd  
Without my fee. Well, Monsieur Purity,  
If thou dost infuse unwholesome doctrine  
In thy new Proselyte, and make her swell,  
Thou art the most hypocritical Villain,  
That ever made Religion a Cloak  
For lust and treason: But here they come.  Enter Philostratus and Celia. Coel. 
Yonder's my Governess.  Phil. 
I take my leave, tho' with as sad a heart  
As vanquished Kings part with their ravished Sceptre:  
Yet midst our griefs, this feeble hope remains;  
Joys are still sweetest, after greatest pains:  
And every one this maxim will approve,  
That expectation is the food of love.  Coel. 
Oh! but fruition is affection's life;  
A Maid's ne'er happy till she be a Wife.  Phil. 
And Man's imperfect till he leads a Bride,  
A half-faced Medal stamped but on one side.  
Why should we then through fear, defer this Match,  
Which would to both such happiness afford,  
Render us perfect in each others love,  
Or rather with perfection crown our loves?  
Let's to the Temple: why should our body part,  
When mutual vows have married our heart?  Coel. 
Oh Philostratus, yield not so much to passion,  
Lest you give me occasion to believe you  
An enemy to virtue and obedience.  Phil. 
I have done: but since love was cause of my offence, I can't despair of pardon.  Coel. 
I can afford you nothing with more willingness,  
Except myself; which if you'd soon obtain, strait  
Put in act what lately we designed.  Phil. 
 put new heat into me, I fly to the performance.  
Farewell, and pray for the success.  Coel. 
My prayers are never wanting.— Come, Tabytha.  Exit. Matr. 
Now to my discovery: good godly Sir, receive the prayers of one, that hath wandered long in the path of ignorance.  Phil. 
Good woman, your Mistress is gone.  Matr. 
And would be willingly instructed in the right way.  Phil. 
Pox, what shall I do with her? I have no time to lose in catechising.  Matr. 
Oh listen to my Reformation, the humble desire I have to be instructed.  Phil. 
I have it— Woman, before I can receive thee into the society of the godly, thou must make a public  
recantation of all thy errors, and set three congregational Meetings upon the stool of repentance.  Matr. 
And please your worship.  Phil. 
Make not an Idol of me; no creature may be worshipped: but follow me, and see you prove no hypocrite.  Exit. Matr. 
I care not what I prove, so I discover  
The secret subject of your close discourse,  
Which I suspect already; but I'll after:  
If it succeed, I shall grow fat with laughter.  Exit.  

Scoena Quarta.  Rant, Ticket meeting. Rant. 
MOnsieur Ticket.  Tick. 
Your servant, Sir; you did bravely to give  
Your friend the slip, when you had engaged him  
In so perilous an adventure.  Rant. 
I faith I left you not, until the Fort  
Was yielded, and you in full possession;  
I stood but as a cipher, vowing my own  
Shame, after so many nice refusals  
And puts off, saw the Fort taken, upon  
The first assault; she's a very woman,  
And as such bestows her favours.  Tick. 
 spoken much in little, Sir; but I admire  
You could be Master of so large a Faith,  
As ever to believe her niceness more,  
Then a fair varnish set upon her lust.  Rant. 
I did and do believe it real.  Tick. 
And that she merely stood upon the sum  
By her excised upon her Maidenhead.  Rant. 
That's part of my belief too; and how e'er it was  
Your fate so to reduce her, our first onset  
Promised but little comfort.—  Tick. 
The fairest omen in the world: give me  
A nice behaviour, a rigid Damsel;  
For they that do upon themselves impose  
A strictness of beaviour, more than usual,  
Would thereby seem, what really they are not,  
Honest; and by their niceness in carriage  
Attract th' ignorant to their devotions—  
Whilst to others expert, and knowing their  
Hypocrisies, they appear as prodigal  
Of their favours, as Politicians are  
Of their promises they mean not to perform:  
And more open, than Oysters at a full tide.  Rant. 
I must not yield to your opinion, Sir,  
Experience plainly shows the contrary,  
That women are by some hid sympathy  
In nature, constrained to love and fancy  
Some few particular persons, and shun  
Others, though of far greater merit.  Tick. 
Flat heresy, there are inclined to all,  
In their natures most insatiable;  
And if to some they do appear more strict,  
Their Politic rules of Government constrain it;  
For they're a Commonwealth among themselves,  
And square their actions out by policy:  
Their Maxims teach them when to appear free,  
When nice, when amorous, and when wanton:  
Free unto such, whom they suppose too wise,  
Or too much lovers of their liberty  
To enter into bondage; and nice to those  
They fancy masters of simplicity  
Enough to take them for their Wives, binding  
Themselves firmly to believe them honest,  
Whilst they shall see no other; or if they do,  
Their horns in time may make a circular  
Compass (like the Rams) about their brows, so  
Serve for spectacles to rectify their eyesight.  Rant. 
Ha', ha'! this is a good raillery.  Tic. 
Thou'rt so incredulous! Pish, I can bring thee authentic proof that all I say is Canonical.  Rant. 
It must be ocular, good Ticket; for less  
Shall never alter my belief: Do I  
Not know myself as meriting as thee,  
Thy travels set aside? as full of courtship,  
And no less Master of audacity?  
Nor need my form, my strength, my stature, or  
My breeding yield precedency to any;  
Tho' I confess, you do in most of these excel:  
And for my purse, it has been as open  
To that woman as to myself: yet I  
Can never from her yet obtain a kiss,  
Not purchased at a double rate: and thou  
Upon a small or no acquaintance, to  
Be admitted as freely to her lips,  
As to a Church, for aught I know, unto  
Her bed, Pox 'tis a fate, a plaguy destiny.  Tick. 
Heat not yourself so much; I hear you, man,  
And cannot choose but laugh at your so fixed  
Atheistical belief; from which, if you  
Have any grace, I'll withdraw you: therefore  
Know, this woman, this nice precise woman,  
Hath solicited me with earnestness  
To procure thee to be her husband.  Rant. 
Thou dost but jest?  Tick. 
Refuse me else: and upon this condition, I have  
Her promise of a night's lodging in reversion.  Rant. 
And couldst thou conceal this, to betray thy friend?  Tick. 
No, I came with resolution to have told thee all, but that thy passion cast upon me another argument.  Rant. 
Did she think me such an Ass?  Tick. 
She did: let me entreat thy patience.  
I promised to effect her will; at which  
She seemed transported with her joy: then straight  
She laid the plot, that I should bring thee to her,  
Where Wine should be prepared to make thee drunk;  
And in that fit a Parson ready for  
To Marry you: Now I have a device  
To turn the plot wholly upon herself.  
But here the Ladies come, hark in your ear.   

Scoena Quinta.  Astutia, Clittomestra, Acuta, Rant, Ticket. Ast. 
I Wish the means of my fortunes would have afforded you an entertainment equal unto your worths: but what in that  
was scant, your welcome must supply.  Clitt. 
There needs no apology, Madam, where the entertainment and entertainer both appeared so excellent: for my part, I  
pity my misfortune, in being so long ignorant of your worth, and barred your rich acquaintance, and therein envy my  
daughter's happiness.  Acut. 
Good mother, let's leave compliment, lest we become subjects of mirth for those eaveses dripping gallants.  Rant. 
So, 'twill be excellent: the Ladies spy us; we'll upon 'em.  Ticket. 
Your wishes upon you, Ladies'.  Astu. 
Then you would not be so near me.  Rant. 
Not more near than welcome.  Astu. 
Who told you so, good Squire?  Rant. 
Myself, good Madam; I need no Tutor.  Astu. 
I thought so, that made you in the wrong: for he that teacheth himself, hath none of the wisest masters.  Rant. 
The fool thanks you, Madam.— Lady, shall I hold fairer quarter here?  Acu. 
Nay, if you shift quarters so oft, I fear you are hardly in a posture of defence, much less to vanquish.  Rant. 
You mean not to assault me, Lady?  Acut. 
Nor be assaulted by you: far ye well, Sir.  Rant. 
Quick and short.  Astu. 
This 'tis to change: seldom comes the better.  Rant. 
If the best be so bad, Love defend me from the worst.  Astu. 
Come, come, as bad as we are, you could make A shift with the worst of us.  Rant. 
She's pleasant and free: I like it rarely;  
I'll follow the humour close:  Ticket. 
If that you doubt one syllable of what  
My tongue so largely hath expressed, you do  
Me the most ignoble wrong that faithful  
Lover ever yet sustained. Oh, Madam,  
Were't possible you could conceive my love,  
The tortures and the pains I do sustain  
For you (dear mistress) the continual sighs,  
And floods of tears that trickle from my eyes,  
Like to another deluge; drowning all  
My joys at once, except the comfort of  
Your name, your sacred name, which all amidst  
My ecstasies of love, I call upon;  
You could not be so cruel, so obdurate.  He weeps. Clit. 
Alas, I pity him: can all this love be feigned? and yet I fear it is, else he could not so far have slighted me, as not return an answer to my Letter.  Acu. 
Remember that, and bened deluded.  Tick. 
Can't all these tears dissolve that marble heart,  
Able to melt the Adamant itself,  
And make it pliable as wax i'th' Sun,  
Apt to take any form? oh that your heart  
Were so, so fit for love's impression!  Clit. 
Pray no more; You disturb yourself, and me.  Acu. 
A painted fire may delight the eye,  
Or flutter afar off the deceived hopes  
Of a cold frozen wretch; but when approached,  
Affords no heat, nor light: such is your love,  
In first appearance fair, and passionate;  
Your tongue seems full of heat: but Sir, your heart  
Is like a frozen clod of ice, floating  
Upon dissimulations sea, and fails  
All such as tread upon that slippery pavement.  Tick. 
Madam, Your Daughter's speech doth add such Seas  
Of grief unto my soul, that now I find  
Myself but in a bad condition  
Farther to plead my love; pray think upon't;  
Such love comes seldom, and ought not to be refused.  Clit. 
What were I best do?  Acu. 
If that you have a mind to lose yourself,  
And more than is yourself, your honour, confide  
In that inconstant man.  Clit. 
I'll never think on him.  Acu. 
Study to forget him: see, he's courting Astutia.  All. 
Ha', ha', ha'!  Clit. 
They're very merry; we'll mix company.  Tick. 
With me, Lady?  Acu. 
Yes, Sir: I understand you court me by Attorney,  
And therefore out of pity I inform you, your  
Love goes many miles about, nor does't become  
A Gentleman to court the parents liking first,  
And so impose a violence upon a Virgin's love.  Tick. 
Madam, I must confess my love's to you;  
And yet I hope I have not far transgressed  
By courting you in the person of your  
Mother; since 'tis according to her own  
Directions; and I believe't, with your approbation.  Acu. 
There's no such matter, Sir; for I expect  
Peculiar addresses to myself,  
From any man that hopes to make me his.  
You did begin that way.  Tick. 
All shall be mended, Lady.  Acu. 
That at your own discretion.  Rant. 
Three Ladies is too much odds. I was well matched before.  Tick. 
Take courage, man; I'm come for to relieve thee.  Astu. 
'Twas well you did; for he was talking here,  
To match his wit; and in good truth 'twas such  
A tired Jade, that none could match it.  Tick. 
Then 'twas a matchless wit.  Acu. 
Or rather, there was no wit to be matched.  Rant. 
Good Ladies, let my wit alone, and make  
Use of my body, that will match ye all.  All. 
Ha', ha', he!  Ast. 
If it were dipped in brimstone, it were a rare match.  Acu. 
To fire all the farthing-candles in Town.  Rant. 
Or what is of less value, Woman.  Astu. 
An excellent halfe-farthing jest!  Acu. 
Had it been less, it had been worth just nothing.  Astu. 
Not worth the wart upon his nose.  Rant. 
You're very pleasant, Ladies, with me and my  
Nose; but I have a better thing at your service.  Astu. 
But is it sound, Sir?  Acu. 
A question well urged.  Rant. 
I warrant you, Virgins; and in few months  
'Twill brace your bellies so hard, that  
They shall sound too.  Astu. 
Now ye speak a Language we understand not.  Rant. 
Come, I'll interpret.  Tick. 
Madam, you anew create me: I'll neither fail the time, nor place.  Clit. 
You see the power of your Courtship, Sir;  
Therefore pray impute my yielding to  
Your high merit, and not my levity.  Tick. 
All your actions are so bountiful, they  
Can admit no bad construction.  Clit. 
I rely upon your nobleness, Daughter.  Acu. 
I attend your pleasure.  Tiek. 
Madam, my service.  Rant. 
'Tis pity such beauties should go home unaccompanied.  Clit. 
We are almost there; I pray excuse us.  Rant. 
Lady, shall I lead you?  Acu. 
When I am blind I'll send for you:  
A Dog were worth money then.  Aside. Ast. 
Your servant, Madam.  Rant. 
I'll follow, though it be but for another jeer.  Astu. 
Nay Sir, I must crave your patience, for the exchanging of a word or two.  Tick. 
I am your creature, Madam, you may command me.  Ast. 
Do you perceive nothing in this face, that  
May instruct your memory who I am?  Tick. 
Trust me, no; yet your beauty would  
Challenge a remembrance, though I must style  
Myself so much infortunate, as to  
Acknowledge this the second day of our  
Acquaintance.—  Astu. 
Nay, let us lay by compliment, and now  
Be serious: possibly as a stranger you may  
Not deal so faithfully in my service, as  
I could wish.  Tick. 
Madam, I do beseech you credit me  
A Gentleman, and that it is not my  
Profession to practise such deceit,  
Especially unto a beauty of your excellence.  Astu. 
Trust me, I cannot be too cautious, Sir,  
In what so much concerns me as this match,  
The only hope, on which my fortunes have  
Dependency: the esore I thought it good  
To let you know, how well I was acquainted  
With you once, and dear in your Father's  
Thoughts as you.  Tick. 
You won't confound me! with me acquainted?  
Sure you mistake the man: for I have been  
Absent from England more than seven years:  
Besides, my Father, to whom you do pretend  
You were so dear, is now some ten years dead;  
And than you scarce could have the use of reason.  Astu. 
I must confess all your assertions truths,  
Which needs must verify what I affirm.  
You had a Sister, whom you did send,  
Two years after your father died, beyond  
The Seas for breeding, to a Nunnery,  Tick. 
I do remember well that fatal truth.  
Madam, for charity do not renew  
That losses grief. O poor Clariana!  
She perished in the voyage by a wrack,  
Which mournful tidings did so much afflict  
My heart, I took no comfort in this land,  
And thereupon I did resolve to travel.  Astu. 
Then for to ease you of that grief, let me  
Assure you, that your Sister scaped the wrack,  
Swimming upon a plank to Dovers Sands.  Tick. 
Oh happy news! But know you where she is?  Astu. 
Do you see this Casket?  Tick. 
It was my Sisters, Madam, left her by our  
Mother on her deathbed.  Ast. 
Then know me for that Sister.  Tick. 
As such I lovingly embrace you,  
And do believe't. One confirmation more;  
Let's see your arm: 'tis so, the very mould.  
My dearest Sister, welcome.  Astu. 
I'm glad to see you, Brother, and yet sorry  
To see you still so wild, these courses in the end  
Must ruin you.  Tick. 
No chiding, Sister; youth will have its swinge:  
My wild Oats must be sown, then I'll appear  
As grave as a new-shaved Senator: prithee  
Tell me the circumstance of thy escape,  
And how thou hast lived these seven years.  Astu. 
Honest, and still a Maid; let that suffice:  
The rest you may know hereafter. But to  
Our business now, concerning Rant.  Tick. 
I wish you had made this discovery sooner.  Astu. 
Why, what makes you look so pale? have  
You discovered my design? if so, thou hast  
Eternally undone me: for without him,  
However to him I have been severe,  
I cannot live.  Tick. 
Now must I lie, or show myself a Rascal.  
Fie, fie, wipe your eyes, be not so passionate.  
As I am an honest man, I told him nothing:  
But as I was a knave I told him all.  Aside. 
Yet in my opinion there were no great  
Loss of him, considering his wild conditions.  Astu. 
I am not ignorant of them; yet do not doubt,  
My love will teach me patience to reclaim him.  Tick. 
Why think him then thy own; go in, and  
Get a Priest in readiness.  Astu. 
I shall obey you, Sir.  Tick. 
Now have I more business, than a Lawyer  
In a Michaelmas Term, though much less time  
To effect it; first t' oblige the Doctor's wise  
With the manly courtesy of a night's lodging;  
The which must recompense the hopes I lose  
In this that proves my Sister; then little  
Acuta, she would be nibbling too:  
The Rogue loves me, yet willingly would have  
The cloak of Matrimony cast o'er her lust:  
A foolish promise, or two, will satisfy.  
Without a Priest, her scruples. Then my last,  
To make a match between my sister and  
Sweet Monsieur Rant, will prove my master piece:  
But I lose time, which is too precious now,  
Fate give my sister's love success, and then  
Though I miss mine, they can find other men.    

ACTUS Quintus.  

Scoena Prima.  Blunt, Philostratus like a physician, Virginio. Blunt. 
YOur recommendation's good, very good, from a good friend of mine.  Phil. 
Besides the friendship, Sir, 'tis charity  
To be assistant to a stranger. All  
I desire at present, is your good word:  
And if you chance to know of any person  
Infirm of any desperate disease,  
Such as your London-Doctors have given o'er,  
I doubt not but to cure them, at least  
To give them ease.  Blunt. 
Excellent, a man sent by providence,  
But Sir, such desperate diseases, on  
Your first trial, should you miscarry,  
Would quite discredit you.  Phil. 
From such hard asks,  
Men gain opinion of what they are:  
Upon my life, I'll not discredit you;  
For I have such prophetic knowledge, Sir,  
Of the malignity of each disease,  
That viewing the patiented only, I can guess  
To a hair's breadth, whether the disease be  
Desperate, or curable.  Blunt. 
Let me embrace you: I have occasion  
To employ you strait; and if you prosper in't,  
You make me yours for ever. I am plain,  
Sir, Blunt as my name; but many that  
Express more, may not perhaps reward  
Your pains so well as I may do.  Phil. 
I am not mercenary; if I can do you any  
Good, the service will requite itself.  Blunt. 
The honestest Physician I ere met with!  
In sooth I'll bear you to your patient strait,  
A fair one, I'll assure you, and my Mistress:  
If you cure her, you may command two  
Purses, her fathers and mine.  Phil. 
You speak nobly.  Enter Virginio. Blunt. 
And see, he comes as sent for: what cheer,  
Forsoot? How doth my Mistress, and your  
Daughter?—  Virg. 
Never worse, Mr. Blunt, never worse.  Blunt. 
Doth she continue her Fanatic vein?  Virg. 
No Sir, but worse, she's wheeled about to the  
Antipodes, turned Princess in conceit,  
And expects strange Ambassadors from the  
King of Morocco, to fetch and Marry her  
By Deputy.  Phil. 
Her distemper's high; but surely caused by love.  Virg. 
What Gentleman is that?  Blunt. 
A skilful Doctor, forsooth, new come from Milan, I had provided for your Daughter.  Virg. 
You show your love; but she's passed recovery.  Phil. 
Tho' I affect not to be a Trumpet of my skill,  
Yet charity compels me to inform you, that  
Your Daughter may be curable, if her distemper  
Be no more than you deliver; nor will it prove  
The most desperate cure I have effected.  Virg. 
Good Sir, I do believe you a great Artist;  
But I'm old and passionate: use your best  
Skill; and if you can restore her to her  
Former senses, make you your own conditions,  
My purse shall seal them.  Phil. 
Not for your Money, Sir; but for the Love  
I bear this Gentleman, and's honoured friend,  
Who recommended me unto him, I'll do  
My best, and that I hope will make you bless  
Your Stars you ere employed me. I desire  
I may have liberty, and all things else  
Provided the cure may require—  Virg. 
Nothing shall be wanting. But we delay: come, Mr. Blunt, 'tis time we were about it.  Blunt. 
Come, good Mr. Doctor.  Phil. 
Your servant, Sir. I follow.  Exeunt.  

Scoena Secunda.  Acuta with a Letter, and Clysterpipe, Clittomestra. Acut. 
CArry this Letter to my Mother, sirrah.  Glis. 
Fine, and familiar; good signs of affection!  
I must be diligent; from whence comes it?  Acut. 
That I know not: a Porter left it here even now:  
Dispatched, and give't my Mother; it may require  
A hasty answer.  Glis. 
With expedition, forsooth.  Exit. Acut. 
So, is't hit, I'm made: althoed hinder  
My Fathers making, I mean a horned Beast,  
It may make me a wife, preserve my mother  
Honest; these are the virtuous ends to which  
I framed that Letter as from Ticket. Virtue,  
As thou dost know my ends are just, so give  
Success to my designs. See, here she comes,  Enter Clit. 
Hooded and masked. So, so; my plot hath hit.  Clit. 
Daughter, I am going a little way: if in my absence Your Father should return, say I was sent for to a woman's labour.  Acut. 
Or rather, that you are gone unto a man's.  Aside. 
But you forget your promise.  Cilt. 
Pish, I find he's an inconstant man; I think  
Not on him now.  Acut. 
In that you're wise; I told you so at first.  Clit. 
My business requires haste: farewel, Acuta.  Acut. 
Farewell, dear mother: if the empty Air  
Be pleasant food to feed your longing with,  
Your lustful appetite may surfeit on't:  
I grudge it not. How slily cunning she  
Appeared in hiding from me what myself  
Designed, only to frustrate her wicked ends!  
But I with Monsieur Ticket will keep touch,  
And meet him at his own appointed place,  
In the morefield's, the whilst my mother  
At Islington doth feast herself on hopes,  
And eat Stew'd-Pruands for restoratives.  
Ha', ha', he! the fancy how it pleases me  
But I must to my task; she gains a prize  
That picks a virtuous Husband out of vice.  Exit.  

Scoena Tertia.  Ticket, Rant, Astutia. Tick. 
HOw dost feel thyself?  Ran. 
This wench hath given me a shrewd hearing; my brains begin to turn like tumblers, and do the Summerset in my scull: I wonder she continues sober.  Tick. 
Custom hath rendered it a second nature to her: but by my faith, friend, you shall drink no more, since it doth so disturb you.  Rant. 
Pish, 'tis nothing: a little heats me.  Tick. 
If it be no more, you'll do your work the better, a little wins the soul of Venery, and makes a man all fancy. But didst thou mark with what a canonical countenance and ceremony the fellow seemed to marry you? he looked so superciliously, I scarce knew him for my man.  Rant. 
Faith he would have deceived any: but to see  
The wench, she stands upon it now, as  
If she were some Votary: she won't go to bed  
Forsooth at undecent hours, and brides it  
As much as my Lady Mayoress at a Coronation.  Tick. 
But the jest will be, boy, after thou hast  
Enjoyed her, and I my promise (for we must  
Not discover before) what a pickle she'll  
Be in!—  Rant. 
Ha', ha', he! the pretty faces she'll make!  Ticket. 
When she finds herself deluded, by being our whore, in stead of your wife, by my faith a great descent.  Rant. 
Certainly she'll gall her tongue with scolding,  
And batter down the wall of her mouth,  
I mean her teeth, with the thunderbolt  
Of her exclaims.  Tick. 
Nay, we must expect lightning too; for she's  
A Serpent, and can spit fire.  Rant. 
Howe'er, I'll stand her boldly; I believe the  
Breach is made to my hand. But now we  
Talk of broken commodities, art not thou  
To meet the Doctor's wife to night?  Tick. 
I am; but I'll see thee encircled within Astutia's arms first, and then I'm for her.  Rant. 
Faith Ticket I must have a reversion there; 'tis  
Justice, Wench for Wench: besides, thou art to  
Have a taste of my red Dear; and Venison is  
A meat to pleasure friends with.  Tick. 
Marry here, I take pains for you, and my  
Self too; in th' other venture, for myself  
Only: and couldst thou have the conscience  
To reap the harvest of all my labours,  
And never take pains to sow?  Rant. 
Dear Ticket, I only desire the glean, and those are allowed to idle persons: then consider who entered you into that acquaintance: good turns would be remembered.  Tick. 
And shall: if this wench can't allay your heat, th'other's at your service.  Rant. 
Why now thou speakest nobly, like a worthy engrosser of Mutton: but mum, here comes my mock-bride; oh she paces admirably well!  Tick. 
She'll troth and jolt anon: a through-paced wench, I warrant thee.  Enter Astutia. Rant. 
Sweet, are you come to hasten me to bed?  Astu. 
The nights are long, Sir, and you may no doubt  
Find time enough, before Aurora doth  
Unveil her face, to make you weary of  
Those sports your expectation flatters you  
Withal: Marriage is a holy thing,  
And all its Rites, Sir, are to be performed  
With ceremonious and due respect.  Rant. 
But Dear, the Ceremony now is o'er:  
Since that the Priest hath tied our hands, and love  
Our hearts; what can remain, but that we taste  
Those lawful sweets, which Hymen doth allow  
His votaries?  Tick. 
Madam, indeed 'tis late; for night gins  
To spread her sable Canopy o'er the Earth.  Astu. 
Sir, I am all obedience: if it be  
Your pleasure thus early to go to rest,  
I am your servant now, and must obey:  
All that before I said, I pray excuse:  
A fond desire to retain a while  
My Virgin-state, reprieve my Maidenhead,  
Made me contend; no disobedience  
To your will, which ever shall be mine  
In all that's good, or but indifferent;  
So strictly knit to yours, that none therein,  
Though envy lent them eyes, shall ere discern  
A difference.  Rant. 
What pity 'tis she is a whore!  
Were she honest, and thus obedient,  
She would grow up a Precedent for wives,  
And be a woman born to make men happy.  
But she is light, and therefore shunned the light:  
For whilst day peeped, her deeds of darkness  
Durst not show their face, nor show her lust.  
Why do I term it so? to me 'tis not:  
For she enjoys a husband in her thoughts,  
Whilst I do knowingly embrace a Whore;  
Yet is her promise to my friend no ways  
Excusable; see, she drives the bargain:  
A man were well holp up with such a wife:  
They toy: 'twas well the Marriage was in jest.  
I like my arms, and would not change my crest.  
Dear, let's not waste such precious time: to bed,  
There let us lose ourselves in one another,  
And raise our pleasures up to such a height,  
The gods themselves may envy at our bliss.  
Come, is the Posset made?  Tick. 
To what purpose? here are no aged Matrons to mumble the curd between their gums, and read a bawdy lecture to your bride, till laughter makes them foam at mouth again. A Posset? none but an Antiquary would have asked for such an apocryphal meat, as ancient as Rebellion itself. Faith a Tub full of grains will be as rich gear to make a Protectorian frolic, and liquor Satin Gowns with.  Rant. 
Thou art such a modish Zealot, and such an  
Enemy to old fashions and customs, I wonder  
Thou lovest women so, a thing in fashion  
In old Adam's days.  Tick. 
And so were ; yet still their fashion  
Changes; so nature varies beauties; sometimes  
Long visages are à la mode, sometimes round, then  
Broad, triangle, oval; any form that is  
In present use, and most esteem, fancy  
Decrees for fairest.  Rant. 
Thy reasons are unanswerable: I submit,  
And will steal as silently to bed as a Zealot  
To his brother's wife when he's asleep.  Tick. 
Get you gone then and be naught together;  
You lose much time. Had I so sweet a Bride,  
I would prevent the morning, which within  
Few hours will appear to chide your dulness.  Rant. 
Faith we're to blame: come, dear, let's in  
To bed, for fear the God of Marriage grow  
Incensed.— Ticket, good rest, and pleasing dreams.  Exit. Tick. 
You have the pleasing substance, Sir, make  
Much on't. So, this happily is dispatched:  
Now to my Doctor's wife; I hope she'll prove,  
Though not a lawful, a sweet prize of love.  Exit.  

Scoena Quarta.  Virginio, Philostratus, Blunt, Celia. Phil. 
SHe's extremely tainted, Sir, that's certain;  
And her distemper still grows higher.  Virg. 
I see it does, Sir, to my grief I see it.  
Never was man like me unfortunate,  
T'have but one child, one comfort in my age,  
And to have her distracted, mad. Heavens,  
How did my youth offend, that on my age  
You do inflict so cruel and severe  
A punishment?  Weeps. Blunt. 
Have patience, forsooth: Mr. Doctor, speak some comfort to him.  Phil. 
I wish I could; and yet I don't despair  
But that time and healing medicaments  
May cure her distemper, and restore  
The Lady to her pristine health.  Virg. 
Oh! never Sir, 'tis not within  
The power of art, to render me so happy.  Blunt. 
Oh sweet Mistress Celia!  Phil. 
Sir, be of cheer, I may have yet in store  
Something may comfort her. Alas, I pity you,  
And participate your grief: we must have time  
To observe and mark her several distempers;  
For each distraction hath its several cause,  
And every cause produceth an effect,  
By which 'tis known; and a disease once known,  
You knows half cured.  Virg. 
Would hers were so: the little hope I've left  
Is in your art, pray use your utmost skill.  
Command me and my purse for a reward.  Phil. 
Sir, if my life would cure her, I would not set a price on't; but let's observe, she comes, and in her fit.  Enter Celia, richly, but fantastically habited: Servants. Celia. 
Set us our Chair of State, and o'er our head erect a Crystal Canopy, all full of Diamond-stars, whose lustre may blind bleere-eyed Astronomers to gaze upon.  Phil. 
In her Princely strain, we must observe her gestures and her speech, and calculate by them the cause of her distemper.  Blunt. 
Let me alone to watch; I'll be as vigilant, as an Informer in Lent.  Celia. 
Me thinks our Court's too mean, not rich enough  
To entertain the love of such a Prince.  Phil. 
Love is one cause, mark that.  Celia. 
But we will have most glorious ornaments;  
Our walls and pavements all of beaten gold;  
Love in a fiery chariot shall descend,  
And with his flaming beams transpierce his heart,  
Whilst I on gaudy Iris back ascend  
The clouds, and gloriously eclipse the Sun.  
How can my love be absent?— hark, hark,  
I hear him come in Charles Wain, lumbring  
Through the Clouds, before we are prepared.  
Turrets and Galleries we must have built;  
And Arches carved in one entire stone.  Phil. 
Mark the effects of pride; yet still relating to her love.  Virg. 
Poor Celia!  Coel. 
Pillars of Pearl, and lofty Pyramids  
Of Diamonds, upon whose spires shall be  
Erected, with sacred and mysterious art,  
A Saphire prospect to orelook the world.  
Next, will I have a heaven made of Crystal,  
And women's hearts all adamant; the men's  
Vulcan shall forge of his refined steel,  
That they cleave in one and never part.  
'Tis well you know your distance. See my commands  
Be executed all, you are my surveyor.—  Phil. 
She cools, and grows more temperate.  Coel. 
Why should I not have him, him that I love?  
Obedience, love, duty, affections;  
Oh you discordant contrarieties!  
What a confusion do you breed within  
My fancy, and keep a struggling for the  
Mastership!  Phil. 
Now she discourses somewhat sensibly;  
Her rank distemper certainly is love,  
My art much fails me else; which not enjoyed,  
Worse frenzy follows, in the end her death,  
Which Physics skill wants power to prevent.  Virg. 
It is too incredible to gain belief:  
Yet with my heart I wish it were no worse,  
Then might I hope a remedy, which now  
Alas is desperate. She love! poor Girl,  
Love knows not such an enemy as her:  
She hath with tears besought me on her knees,  
When I've presented Husbands to her choice,  
That I'd dispense with her obedience,  
And leave her to her Virgin-happiness.  Phil. 
I must confess 'tis strange.  Blunt. 
And when, forsooth, I offered my love, and service,  
You would not think, forsooth, how she slighted it!  Phil. 
All that may be, Sir; you're inclined to age;  
And possibly the lovers tendered by  
This Gentleman unto his daughter's choice  
And liking, little agreeable unto  
The Lady's fancy, which is the womb of love.  
You may believe me Master of a confidence  
That sorts not with true art, to build upon  
Conjectural speculations: But when  
You shall understand my chiefest skill lies  
In Physiognomy, which is the Index  
Of the Mind, that through observation  
I have learned the radical cause of such  
Distempers, you cannot blame me if I desire  
You would bethink yourself, or have her asked  
Concerning these particulars.  Virg. 
These three years I dare answer for her: indeed some four years since I do remember a proper Gentleman, but much in his estate decayed, made tenders of his love; I therefore thought him not a match for her, no more did she.  Phil. 
If it might not be too great boldness, I should crave his name.  Virg. 
He called himself Philostratus.  Coel. 
Philostratus! he is not here; why do  
You mock me thus? yet he is too unkind  
That will not come and see his Celia die.  
My soul is fleeting in an Airy Chariot.  
Directly to Elysium; but I'll  
Soon return, and haunt my Philostratus.  Phil. 
Now you'll approve my art.  Virg. 
'Tis more than humane!  Phil. 
Her infirmitie's plain: if you esteem her life at any rate, you may preserve it.  Virg. 
Value her life! oh, Sir, don't question it:  
Were Philostratus poorer than he is,  
And that his marriage could but cure her;  
I'd embrace his alliance with more joy  
Then if Croesus' store flowed in his Coffers.  Blunt. 
I hope you will not make an Ass of me,  
Forsooth, I have your promise.  Virg. 
Always provided that you got her consent: which not obtained, my promise, Sir, is void. Good Mr. Doctor, inquire out this man, this philostratus; let us not neglect the means that may restore her.  Phil. 
Sir, I go:  
But would be willingly assured before,  
That you will ratify the match: for  
Tho' he's a stranger to me, I'd be loath  
To do a Gentleman such injury,  
As to revive an almost-quencht affection.  
With hopes, that would not prove realities.  Virg. 
Oh doubt it not! I love my child too well:  
Yet to confirm your faith, list to my vow:  
If that the Gods restore my child to health,  
By means of Philostratus, or his love;  
I swear by Styx, that oath of dreadful awe  
Amongst the Gods, which they durst never break,  
Philostratus shall have my full consent  
To take her for his Wife: of which fixed vow  
Heaven and you are witness.  Phil. 
I thank you, Sir, and now crave performance.  Virg. 
Are you Philostratus?  Phil. 
The same, Sir,; and for your Daughter,  
With this kiss I cure her distemper.  Virg. 
I am all wonder!  Blunt. 
And I all fool, to bring a Doctor to wipe my nose.  Coel. 
Your pardon, gracious father; it was love  
That made me counterfeit this Lunacy.  
To gain your free consent, and yet preserve  
My duty and obedience.  Virg. 
I am so glad to see thee thus recovered,  
I want wards to express my joy:  
But take him, Girl, thou hast deserved him well.  
Philostratus, I need not doubt thy love,  
Which hath continued so many years  
(Almost without hope) constant: such love  
Must prosper; take her, Philostratus.  Phil. 
Welcome, dear blessing: with far greater joy  
Do I receive thee into my bosom,  
Then malefactors at their death's reprieves.  Coel. 
My joy's too great to be expressed in words;  
My fancy and my love too high. The Gods  
Affect not heaven more than I Philostratus:  
For which rich gifts (dear Father) I do own  
You more, then for my birth.  Virg. 
And may the gift be worth it, and thou him:  
The promises are fair on both sides. Let's  
To Church, and solemnize your loving Rites.  
Mr. Blunt, come, cheer up, man; thou wert  
My choice, but none can war with fate:  
Howe'er, be merry at the Wedding, man;  
There be more wives i'th' world.  Phil. 
And here comes one of equal years to fit him.  Blunt. 
Sweet Celia!  Coel. 
My Governess, and dripping! sure she hath been new dipped.  Matr. 
For love of you: but I'll make no more discoveries: a precise Rascal, like an unconscionable villain as he was, set me upon a tub of water for a stool of repentance, upon which my devotion cooling, I fell asleep; and nodding, tilted backwards into the water; up went my heels and so I made a discovery.  Phil. 
Of the Netherlands.  All. 
Ha', ha', he!  Phil. 
If you be a charitable man, warm this piece of devotion; that is, marry her; she'd prove both a Wise and a Nurse: the last you want most.  Blunt. 
I would do much, I can tell you, to get even with you: I have been fobbed of one wife already.  Coel. 
You may venture here with safety, with assurance: none will rob you of her; and I am sure my Governess is kindhearted.  Matr. 
I would not forgo a good turn; but I am glad to see you come to so well, Mistress.  Virg. 
Come, let it be a Match, and all to Church together.  Phil. 
I see he's well inclined: silence consents. You'll have 〈◊〉 clean Bride of her, she hath been well washed.  Matr. 
Oh that Rascal! could I but light on him.—  Phil. 
Do not rail upon him; he has almost done you that good in satisfaction, by procuring you a rich Churl for a Husband, as may make you bless him all days of your life.  Matr. 
Was it you, Sir?  Phil. 
No matter; I, or one in my Coat: at dinner I'll relate all passages.  Virg. 
I do suspect mad pranks. Son, take your Bride.  
May nought but death this union divide.  Blunt. 
Nay, Mistress, we'll make up the second couple; a Complete match, i' faith.  Virg. 
Why well said, Neighbour, now I like it; you go Roundly to the lousiness.  Blunt. 
I can do it home, I can tell you.  
You will make an obedient wife?  Matr. 
Yes, and please your worship.  Phil. 
This is right Love, and Courtship A la mode.  
Lady, will you Mary me? yes Sir, with all my  
Heart: but for obedience, you should have left it  
Till you came to Church, where she perhaps would have  
Left it behind her.  Virg. 
We lose much time: come, Lovers let's away;  
For Hymen's Rites admit of no delay.  Exeunt.  

Scoena Quinta.  Enter Rant, Astutia. Rant. 
My Wife! I scorned: thou common Wastecoateer,  
And mercenary receipt for lust, dost think  
I had so little wit to marry thee?  
Thou poor abused fool.  Astu. 
I thought you had more honesty, then to  
Deny your Wife; at least more Manhood, then  
To use her scurvily, unlike yourself.  
You know I am no whore; you had my Maidenhead.  Rant. 
Yes, the nineteenth reversion: do I  
Not know your tricks to cousin men,  
Your surphling water, and a thousand more,  
Which I conceal for modesty?  
Or be it granted that thou wert a Maid,  
Will that strengthen a Marriage made in sport,  
By a poor silly servingman?  Astu. 
I still am patiented; but much I fear  
You'll find it otherwise: and when you know  
That I am Tickets Sister, a pure Virgin,  
That never yet knew one dishonest thought,  
Nor any crime, but too much love to you,  
Sure you'll repent my wrongs.  Rant. 
How, Ticket's Sister! how darest thou thus  
Abuse me, abuse my friend, and know  
Thou hast a life within my power?  
Oh impudence of women! didst thou not  
Promise him to make this match?  
The nearest courtesy that woman e'er  
Afforded man.  Astu. 
I did, yet with no bad intent, knowing  
I could at any time acquit myself,  
By letting him know I was his Sister.  Rant. 
Still dost persist in thy most damned untruths?  
I would my friend were here, that we might take  
A full revenge upon thy impudence.  
How now? the news.  Enter. Porter. Port. 
I have a Letter to your Worship.  Rant. 
From whence?  Port. 
The contents will notify.  
Dear Brother (for so my Sister now hath made you) I desire yours and her company instantly at the Pope's head in morefield's, where I shall largely satisfy you of all particular stouching your Marriage: you have got a noble Gentlewoman, use her as she deserves, nobly; use her as my sister, lovingly, as you will preserve the good opinion of  
Your affectionate Brother, Ticket.  
Short, and sweet! I am Married, it seems;  
Juggled into Matrimony without  
My knowledge; a Wedding A la mode.  
Brother Ticket, if you are not really  
My brother, but have Married me to one  
Of your Aunts; here's that shall do me reason:  
And Lady Bride, your policy shall smart for't.  Astu. 
But if you find I really am so,  
Sister to Ticket, and a wife to you;  
What satisfaction ought you then to make  
My innocence, for so abusing me,  
Abusing her, that loved you, loved you  
Beyond reason, beyond measure?  Rant. 
If thou provest all this, I will forgive thee,  
And that's a favour, because thou married'st me  
Without my own consent: 'twas plaguy neat,  
A clean conveyance, carried on with wit:  
I fancy it hugely, and I fear I shall love thee;  
For I begin to have a good conceit  
Of thy honesty: me thought my last  
Night's lodging smicked and savoured of the maidenhead.  
Let's to thy brother now, if he be so;  
He shall be still my friend, if not, my foe.  Astu. 
He will confirm this truth, and that you are  
My lawful husband, that I won you fair.  Exeunt.  

Scoena Ultima.  Acuta, Ticket, Gambugium, Rant, Astutia. Tick. 
MEthinks 'tis a fine fresh air.  Acu. 
I am weary of air; I would have some reality.  Tick. 
thou'dst have thou know'st not what. Have I not vowed a thousand times that I love thee? sworn Oaths that would induce an Atheist to belief? Nay, have I not proffered to stamp my seal upon the virgin-wax? what wouldst have more?  Acut. 
I'd have thee honest, that is, make good thy vows,  
And marry me: thou seest the hazards I  
Have run, to save my mother's honour, and  
Thy soul; hazarded my own dear fame  
What think you Rumour will deliver of me?  
What severe censures men will pass upon me,  
And justly too, for meeting of you here?  
It doth, I must confess, exceed the bounds  
Of modesty; but when the world shall know,  
I came to save the honour of my house,  
You in my mother sought to undermine,  
To tell you, how base a dissembler you are,  
In spite of love, here to renounce all love  
That is not warranted both by the Laws  
Of Church and State; then, Ticket, the world  
Will know my innocence, and thy guilt.  Tick. 
They'll know your love too (Lady) that was the cause (however you disguise it) of this visitation.  Acut. 
I value not who knows it, I confess it;  
And therein glory, I can master it.  
She ne'er was virtuous, that was never tempted;  
I have stood the shock of both, of love and of  
Temptation; yet know, thou great dissembler,  
My virtue's such, that had I not power to  
Resist thy love, before I'd yield to any  
Lose embrace, I'd show myself a Lucrece,  
And die Virtues Martyr.  Tick. 
I do admire thee! fair virtuous soul,  
If thou canst pardon my past wandering love,  
And think me worthy of thee, I am thine.  Acut. 
Add not unto my injuries; was't not  
Enough to court me to affection first,  
And then to work upon my weakness,  
By tempting me to lust; but now when I  
Have overcome thy lust and my affection,  
Again to ensnare me, on pretence of marriage?  Tick. 
Let not my past errors beget obduracy  
In your belief; if now I do not mean it  
Really, let goodness in my greatest need  
Forsake me: witness these tears.  Weeps. Enter Gambugium. Gamb. 
Never was man so tormented as I; first to be catcht up in a Whirlwind, and hurried I know not where; them coming home, to miss my Wife, my Daughter, and my man: Oh my brains, my head, my horrid monstrous head! I feel my temples sprout, they spread, they spread; give me patience, give me patience.  Acut. 
I do believe you, Sir, you are to me  
More welcome now in your return to love,  
To faithful love I mean, then if  
You had never erred.  Tick. 
You anew create my hopes, and see  
Your father to complete the match.  Gamb. 
Oh my eyes! am I asleep, or do I wake?  
My Daughter at an Alehouse window?  
Plague of the Devil, my Wife's upon the  
Bed: Oh my torments! my hellish torments;  
They gnaw my heartstrings. Strumpet,  
What make you there?  Tick. 
Tho' you be her father, yet give me leave  
To tell you you're foul-mouthed: she's so chaste,  
She knows not what your language means:  
She's a Mine of Virtue; you may glory  
In having th' honour to call her daughter;  
She hath made me a convert, made  
Clean a Leopard.  Gamb. 
May I believe her virtuous? a Virgin still!  Acut. 
Father, let my tears persuade you to  
Believe it, not shed for any guilt,  
But to soften your obdurate heart.  Knelt. Tick. 
Rise, sweet; waste not in vain those pearly drops:  
Let me alone to justify  
Thy virtue 'gainst the world; first, Sir, to you,  
Who are more jealous far than wise:  
This Lady, tho' your daughter, is now my wife;  
Nor can your jealous humour injure her,  
But I participate the calumny,  
Therefore bound to vindicate her virtue:  
She ne'er had won me for a Husband,  
If by entreaties, protestations, oaths,  
Gold, Jewels or other allurements  
I could have entered her Virgin-fort.  
In farther addition to her glory, know,  
She was your chief preserver from abuse;  
For I'll confess my crimes, because I mean  
Amendment: I courted long your wife.  Gamb. 
I am a Cuckold irrecoverably, too sensibly  
I feel it. Oho!  Ticket. 
You seem disturbed; i' faith you have no cause,  
Thanks to your daughter. After long courtship,  
I obtained a trivial favour of your wife,  
To give me here a meeting; which she'd done  
If not prevented by your daughter, who sent  
Her Mother to wait at Islington my coming.  Gam. 
Oh how am I blessed in a virtuous Child!  Tick. 
You are indeed, and in a virtuous wife,  
If that your jealousy do not corrupt her;  
For none but she could have so long withstood  
The various trains I laid to blow her  
Virtue up.  Gam 
Well then, farewell it; I see 'tis a folly  
To be jealous of what we can't prevent.  
Daughter, I cry thee mercy for my ill  
Opinion of thee; nay, I'll buy it with  
Five hundred pounds more than I meant  
Thee. Son, thou appear'st a Gentleman;  
Take my consent: I give thee my daughter  
Willingly, provided thou wilt not feek  
To cuckold the father.  Tick. 
I shall ever pay the love and duty of a Son.  Gam. 
Why well said Son; where shall we keep the wedding?  Acu. 
If it be your pleasure, I think at Islington, where my Mother expects us.  Tick. 
Come, sweet, let's thither; the Parson of the Village shall confirm the bargain, and so to bed.  Enter Rant and Astutia. Rant. 
Brother Ticket, well met.  Tick. 
I wish you joy, Sir: nay, never frown; she is my sister, a Gentlewoman; and tho' her portion's small, her love deserves you, and so I thought it a part of friendship to bring you together. I dealt not worse by you then I have done by myself.  Rant. 
What, married?  Tick. 
As you see,—  
Going to be tied to the sweet Appletree.  Rant. 
Nay, I'll never spoil mirth: here's my hand, I thought to have raged extremely, but it shall be like a loving brot 〈…〉 wish you joy.  Tick. 
Why God-a-mercy; the like to thee.  Gam. 
And I wish joy to both.  Tick. 
Thanks, worthy Father; now let's to Islington  
To consummate my Vow, and after feast  
There with our Mother: you shall be my guest.  Enter Phil. Celia, Blunt, Matrona. Tick. 
But see how opportunely come new friends, and from a wedding too! we are going to the place from whence you came.  Phil. 
Two Weddings meet! why this is luck i' faith.  Rant. 
And we make up the third Couple.  Blunt. 
Nay feakins, forsooth, we make up the mess.  Tick. 
Happy beyond our wish! let's in a measure celebrate our joys.  All. 
With all our hearts.  A Dance.    

EPILOGUE.  
Our Lover's Courtship, held no common road:  
In France it was conceived, Love à la mode,  
French novelties still use to please our Nation,  
Better than any English homespun Fashion;  
Which makes us hope, that this our Play will hit,  
Being made to the Meridian of your wit:  
Yet for all this, we have just cause to fear,  
All are not fashion-mongers that are here:  
And those that be, do change the Mode so fast,  
We are afraid, our wit can never last  
Above a Term; which did our Poet move,  
To finish all in Matrimonial love;  
That love is ancient, and must ever last;  
I would your loves were knit to us as fast:  
That of our Author's Muse you may beget  
Never, and better offsprings of his wit.  
FINIS.